


Beg For Mercy

by Nimbex



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Brigitte Ships It, Cowgirl Position, Creampie, Cuddling & Snuggling, Descriptive Sex Scene, F/M, Fingering, Foreplay, Gets Smutty Later, Huge Rez ;), Laid-Back Atmosphere, Long Sex Scene, Lots of kissing, Lotus Position, Missionary Position, Multiple Orgasms, Nods to Game Mechanics, Occasionally Fluffy, POV Male Character, Pancakes, Positions I don't know the names of dangit, Reader has superpowers, Reader's First Time, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Watchpoint Antarctica, blowjob, meet cute, romantic sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26233546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimbex/pseuds/Nimbex
Summary: You join Overwatch immediately after the battle of Paris, bringing your own set of special abilities to the team. However, during some enforced downtime between missions, one of the other heroes becomes something more than just a teammate...
Relationships: Angela "Mercy" Ziegler & Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note that (name) is your name.
> 
> I know it's usually (y/n), but that always causes a record-scratch in my brain when I'm reading it because I work with computers a lot, and "y/n" mean yes/no.

**Chapter 1**

“So… Have you ever been to Antarctica before?” you ask, a kind of nervous energy making your words sound like the forced attempt at conversation that they definitely _are_. You chalk up another mental tick mark as you ask the question; this will be your fifth attempt to strike up a conversation with the passenger next to you on the dropship during the four-hour flight. 

The… _Man? Machine? Cyborg? Omnic?_ The _entity_ on the bench next to yours turns to coldly regard you. Rather than something as warm and human as _eyes,_ the other passenger has an expressionless green sensor bar zig-zagging across its shiny metal face. Various interlocking mechanical plates and artificial muscles make up its body, glowing here and there with green light matching the glow emanating from the sensor bar. You aren’t sure if it’s some kind of Omnic, and therefore entirely mechanical, or if it’s a very advanced cyborg of some kind; there are a few pieces of its body that look more medical than purely robotic, which wouldn’t make sense for an Omnic.

The other passenger looks at you for a long moment, and you feel strangely like you’re being judged by a blender or some similar household appliance. Then he turns back to staring straight ahead, still not engaging you in conversation. You lean back with a sigh, casting a longing glance further down the dropship’s line of seats, where a few other strangely-costumed individuals are chatting quietly amongst themselves. You curse your choice of seat for the ten-thousandth time this flight.

 _Noooo, I couldn’t have gotten the seat next to the cute blonde in the white armor. I didn’t even get the seat next to the flying robot lady… I get to sit next to the silent, judgy robot ninja._ You think bitterly, glancing back down the dropship’s cabin again, then thunking the back of your head lightly against the headrest. There are few windows in this dropship, a fact compensated for somewhat by there being virtually no reason to look outside; there hasn’t been anything but blinding white ice visible for the past two hours. In the absence of anything else to do, you close your eyes and try to come to grips with your current situation.

Overwatch is back. The world-wide peacekeeping force that had risen to prominence during the Omnic crisis had been disbanded for the past five or so years following a few poorly-planned black-ops missions executed by their Blackwatch division. However, trouble between the now ostensibly-peaceful Omnics and human populations had been brewing recently, and the Null-Sector Omnics’ attack in Paris had been enough to coax Overwatch’s former members out of retirement, and to get the organization functional again. The United Nations and the world at large still aren’t quite sure what to make of Overwatch’s reactivation, and you yourself aren’t quite sure they’re even legally _allowed_ to operate.

Despite the uncertainty, you signed up shortly after the group of heroes had saved your life by destroying a Null-Sector Titan in Paris, offering your services as a private citizen with your own unique abilities on-the-spot. You went through the slightly-surreal experience of shaking hands with the talking gorilla, who welcomed you to the team, and then directed you to board the departing dropship with the rest of the battle-weary heroes before the chunks of the flash-frozen and shattered Omnic Titan had even stopped emitting cold vapor.

As a semi-unauthorized peacekeeping entity being reactivated after years of absence, Overwatch’s recruiting policies had obviously become somewhat… flexible, and you’d only been briefed that your orders (along with the rest of the others) are to keep a low profile somewhere outside the reach of military or law-enforcement while Winston (the gorilla-turned-scientist, and ersatz leader of the newly-re-founded Overwatch) approaches the world’s governments and petitions for Overwatch’s reactivation to be formalized. From what you’ve been able to gather, the dropship is headed to a former Overwatch Watchpoint in Antarctica; a perfect place to stay hidden while you and the rest of the Overwatch heroes recover from the battle in Paris. All of this should have been thoroughly breathtaking and exciting… except that you’d made your first mistake by choosing the seat closest to the dropship’s entrance; a minor decision with disastrous consequences.

The rest of the heroes had walked past you to sit closer to the cockpit, where a young woman with spiky brown hair, what appear to be ski goggles on her face, and a hyperactive disposition occasionally shouts chipper updates as she flies the aircraft. You, meanwhile, had been joined by the taciturn green-and-chrome cypher sitting next to you, who has proceeded to contemptuously ignore you for the entire flight. You feel a lurch in your stomach as the dropship begins to descend, and hear a pop from the speaker on the wall behind you as Captain spiky-hair activates the dropship’s P.A. system.

“Attention all passengers, this is Captain Trrracer speaking!” The young woman announces in an overly-enthusiastic cheer that makes you wonder if she’s popped a few too many stimulant pills. “We’re almost to Watchpoint Antarctica, and we’ll be ‘landing’ in a jiffy.” You can hear the emphasized quotation marks around the word “landing”, and crane to look at the cockpit, finding yourself a little alarmed that landing isn’t being regarded as something absolute.

Before you can ask any questions, the dropship slews around, and slows down, now flying backwards. Without much in the way of viewports, the shifting g-forces cause your stomach to do flip-flops. A few more quick maneuvers follow as the pilot adjusts the position of the dropship in response to factors at which you can only guess. You find yourself apprehensive, but the passenger next to you seems to take all this in stride, and you try to emulate his calm indifference as the dropship bucks and pivots.

Finally, the dropship comes to an unsteady rest and the rear ramp lowers immediately, letting in a blast of cold air that makes you gasp despite yourself. You’re wearing a pair of slightly scorched khakis and a similarly-afflicted blue-grey t-shirt with a few finger-sized holes burned through the fabric making it even more poorly-suited to staving off the cold than normal. Bits of snow, kicked aloft by the downdraft from the dropship’s repulsor jets blow in through the open ramp, which lowers to a silvery rooftop with a slight jolt. As they draw close to you, the snowflakes begin to puff away into steam as you use your abilities to fight the cold.

“Off my bird luvs.” Tracer orders over the P.A. system. “Since Mei is the only one dressed for this climate, I’d head inside before any of you get frostbite; I’ll catch up once I find a place to land this thing.”

You unbuckle the straps across your lap and lift the crash cage which has kept you captive in your seat for the entire flight, standing and striding down the ramp. The rooftop is rectangular, featureless save for a large pillar to your left, and dusted with fine snow at the edges where the dropship’s engines haven’t blown it free. You tense involuntarily against the swirling snow, and mentally expand the pocket of heat around yourself. Looking back, you see the rest of the group walking down the ramp and onto the rooftop. The cybernetic chatterbox who’d ignored you for most of the flight is now looking at you, head cocked slightly to one side in a curious posture.

 _He can probably see me in infrared._ You think, smiling to yourself as you imagine whatever brain is contained in that metal head trying to figure out why you appear to be emitting body heat a few hundred degrees warmer than the human baseline. The ramp begins to lift soon after the last passenger steps onto the now-crowded roof, and the aircraft rises on its belly jets and moves off, the pilot evidently headed for a more appropriately-sized landing pad.

The Watchpoint appears to be built into the side of a mountain, and a stone overhang supported by large square pillars studded around the base looms ominously overhead. A collection of blocky white and silver buildings huddles underneath the overhang, connected by a maze of ramps and catwalks. Some of the buildings sprout flagpoles, atmospheric monitoring equipment, and radar dishes. Many of the buildings have huge rows of icicles hanging from their ledges and eaves, and you notice a few snow drifts piled high against the buildings and giving silent testament to the Watchpoint’s mothballed status.

“Anyone know where the nearest door is?” Asks a young woman wearing a bulky and imposing suit of powered armor.

“Forget za door!” Shouts a white-bearded older man in an even _larger_ suit of armor. His German accent booms forth with surprising volume, making you think he’s either half-deaf, or used to shouting to be heard. Icicles seem to tremble as he speaks. “Where are za _stairs!?”_

You look around for a moment, and realize that he’s right: there’s no obvious way off the rooftop. The long rectangular building atop which you’re all standing is connected to a seemingly identical structure by a catwalk, and a few square support pillars extend from the roof to the stone above, but a quick search reveals no means of descent from the H-shaped roof.

“Last time I was here, there were anti-grav platforms for getting around.” A soft feminine voice with a very faint Swiss accent observes. You all glance back at the blonde woman wearing the white armor with the strange stubby wing-like protrusions extending from her shoulder blades. “They’re probably stored somewhere right now though.”

The German man leans over one edge for a moment, then takes a few steps back toward you, turns, and suddenly roars off, propelled by a small repulsor engine on the back of his armor. He cruises off the edge of the roof in a flurry of sparks, then lands on a set of stairs on the next building over, slightly below the roof level across perhaps a twelve-foot gap.

His charge shatters the railing on the opposite side, sending bits of twisted metal rattling to the ground between the buildings, perhaps thirty feet below. He totters for a moment, then turns with a triumphant grin on his face, and plants the huge armored fists of his suit on his hips, the challenge obvious: _who needs stairs?_ The young woman in similar armor boosts across, propelled by a pair of similar repulsors on the back of her armor. With this, the rest of the group apparently decides to simply use their abilities to jump across to the adjacent building.

The cyborg springs into the air with an acrobatic flip, crossing the distance with ease and touching down in a three-point landing. A feminine-looking Omnic woman with a blue holographic face drifts across gently on white wings that let out an almost-musical noise; she hasn’t touched the ground since she exited the dropship. The Swiss woman with the winged armor grabs the other remaining woman around the thick waist of her fluffy winter coat, and then steps off the ledge. Glowing wings fan out from the stubby white mechanical ones emanating from her shoulders, emitting a faint sound and giving off a yellowish light. The final two drift across the gap on a flat trajectory, leaving _you_ alone on the roof. 

“Uh…” you say, looking at the gap apprehensively, “Can I get a lift?” Your particular abilities don’t give you any way to cross the gap. The rest of the group glances back at you, as if they’d briefly forgotten you were there. After a moment, the blonde woman in the slim white armor crouches, then springs toward you, glowing wings spreading out as she flies back toward you in a flat trajectory and touches down next to you on the roof. She glances at you for a long moment, looking you up and down in an evaluating manner before awkwardly sidling up next to your right side.

“Um… grab… grab onto me?” she murmurs uncertainly, looking into your eyes, then quickly back down, seeming embarrassed. You can’t tell if her cheeks are pink from embarrassment, or simply from the cold.

You move to put an arm around her shoulders, but the mechanical wings are in the way, so you slowly wrap an arm around her waist, squeezing her tightly and blushing as you do. You force yourself to relax your ability, and feel the cold on your burning cheeks for the first time since the dropship’s door opened. The woman wraps one arm around your waist and under your left armpit, and then the two of you step to the edge and drift across side-by-side, neither looking at the other.

The German man grins at the two of you as you touch down, and his armored companion seems to be stifling a giggle, but you ignore them, swiftly releasing the blonde woman’s slender waist and taking a step away, trying to strike a balance between being respectful, but not appearing resentful. The woman releases you a little more reluctantly, her fingers trailing for a brief instant on your back. She takes a step back from you as the hulking German walks over and extends a friendly mechanical hand. Despite the fact that the appendage has to be eighteen inches across, he seems to want to shake your hand.

“I don’t sink I caught your name!” he greets you. You awkwardly extend your own hand into the metallic palm of his armor, and he grasps it in a handshake that closes over your entire forearm, but manages to be only a _little_ bone-crushing. “Reinhardt Wilhelm, at your service!”

“Nice to meet you Reinhardt,” you grin back at him, finding the man’s open and raucous manner contagious. “I’m– ”

“Introductions _later._ ” the woman wearing similar armor to Reinhardt’s says, teeth chattering as she looks around. “Inside _now. Please.”_ The group turns to the closed door at the edge of the landing. The armored woman tugs at the edge of the door. Then she tugs a little harder, scrunching her face up and heaving her weight against the door, the jerking motion causing the pony tail and locks of auburn hair hanging to either side of her face to oscillate madly. 

“Vatt are you vaiting for Brigitte!?” Reinhardt booms, a teasing grin spreading across his face as Brigitte struggles to get the door open.

“…It’s! …Frozen! …Shut!” Brigitte growls testily in between heaves against the door. You step forward, feeling the ninja’s green sensor gaze on your back as you do so.

“I… might be able to fix that.” You announce, stepping up next to Brigitte at the door and gesturing for her to stand back a bit.

You place your hands against the door at shoulder height, touching the freezing cold metal with your fingertips. You focus on the door, then flex the muscles of your arms and shoulders, and a ripple of orange light runs down through your arm, almost too faint to see in the glare of the sun on the white snow and buildings. The door makes a metallic squeaking sound from being heated so rapidly and steam rises gently from the edges. Then you tug on the latch, and slide the door open, revealing a dark room with orange walls inside.

“Vell done!” Reinhardt cheers, slapping you on the back, the gesture very nearly flattening you to the ground with its force as the rest of the group files past into the room. Inside the building and out of the sun, the air actually seems _colder._ Bright light from the doorway is enough to see by, but the room is still gloomy, and something about the smell, and the way dust seems to hang in the air and coat the room’s surfaces gives you the impression that nobody has been here for a very long time.

Dark computer screens are set high on the walls in a few places, and as your eyes adjust, you can see the faint glow from their power indicators. Evidently the Watchpoint still has some electricity. The ninja walks over to a terminal and presses a few buttons, bringing a screen to life and calling up a schematic of the Watchpoint. He presses keys with blinding speed for a few minutes, then the room’s lights snap on, other screens springing to life around you and the rest of the group. Eventually, the ninja steps back from the terminal, dusting his hands together in a very un-robotic gesture of completion.

“Hello.” A synthetic female voice greets your group from an overhead speaker. “I am Elsa, Watchpoint Antarctica’s integrated artificial intelligence. My records indicate that this Watchpoint has been deactivated for five years, one hundred and sixteen days, fourteen hours, and eleven minutes. How may I assist you?”

“Hello Elsa!” the blonde woman greets the AI from behind you, her voice suddenly enthusiastic.

“Hello Doctor Ziegler.” Elsa responds, the inflection of her artificial voice adopting a subdued echo of the doctor’s enthusiasm. “I hadn’t thought I’d see you again. How can I assist you and your companions?”

“Please activate the Watchpoint’s power, communications, and _heating_ systems Elsa.” Doctor Ziegler requests, rubbing her upper arms as she emphasizes the need for heating. After a minute a chime sounds from the speakers.

“Done.” The A.I. voice responds. “The Watchpoint’s fusion reactor is now at 67% power and climbing. It will take approximately two hours for the heating systems to bring the temperature of the living quarters to the occupancy setpoints. In the meantime Doctor, may I suggest that you and your companions gather in the dining area?”

“Is there food?” Brigitte asks, glancing up at the overhead speaker eagerly.

“A great deal of non-perishable food was left at the base when it was shut down.” Elsa replies in a matter-of-fact tone. “Commander Morrison left specific instructions that the Watchpoints be shut down in a manner such that they could be brought back to active status quickly, should the need arise.”

“Any desserts?” Brigitte presses, looking at the speaker with a sudden and unnerving intensity.

“I believe there are several frozen apple pies.” Elsa supplies, sounding hesitant. “The cooking equipment should have adequate power to prepare them. Will that be sufficient?”

“Yes!!!” Brigitte cheers, pumping a fist in the air. “Which way!?”

“I believe Doctor Ziegler knows the way,” Elsa answers, sounding faintly distracted. “I must also mention that there is a dropship attempting to land in the hangar, but the hangar doors are jammed by a buildup of ice. Once I was activated, I contacted the pilot to inform her of the situation. However, she is currently holding position, and will be unable to land until the ice is cleared from the door mechanism. May I suggest that you use the thermal abilities of the man to Doctor Ziegler’s left to accomplish this task?”

Five sets of eyes and one green sensor bar turn to look at you with a mixture of expectation and evaluation. You flush slightly, embarrassed by the sudden attention, and by the A.I.’s nonchalant description of your abilities. However, you figure that you joined Overwatch to be useful, and that there’s no better time than the present. You nod to the others, then glance up at the speaker.

“I can do that Elsa,” you agree, glad for an opportunity to be helpful. “Just tell me where I need to go.”

A map appears on a nearby screen, showing a three-dimensional schematic of the Watchpoint with a glowing red line tracing from your current location to the hangar, which appears to be recessed into the mountainside a little further along the cliff face into which the Watchpoint was built. A long tunnel connects the hangar with the base proper.

“I’ll go with him.” The warmly-dressed Chinese woman in glasses announces, stepping up beside you.

“Very well.” Elsa responds in a neutral tone. “I am capable of monitoring your locations in the Watchpoint everywhere except the living quarters. Please feel free to contact me if you need further assistance. I will inform Ms. Oxton, and keep her up-to-date on your progress.”

The two of you wave farewell to the rest of the group, then set off toward the hangar. You head out a door on the other side of the room, down a flight of stairs, into a two-story structure that seems to be some kind of command room, then through a small set of doors and into the tunnel.

Lights are strung along the ceiling at regular intervals, illuminating a corridor cut directly into the stone of the mountain. The corridor is perhaps fifteen feet tall, and twenty feet wide. Scuff marks still visible on the floor suggest that motorized cargo haulers were used to move supplies and equipment through the tunnel when the Watchpoint was active. The two of you set off down the tunnel, the clopping of footsteps on the floor punctuating the silence.

“I’m Mei.” the woman walking beside you announces unexpectedly. Her voice echoes strangely down the tunnel and into the distance. You look over and down at the shorter woman, then stop and extend a hand.

“Nice to meet you Mei, I’m (Name).” you say, and Mei looks at the hand for a moment, then shakes awkwardly. You’re something of a connoisseur of awkward handshakes, but this one is the gesture of someone who is used to _bowing_ rather than shaking hands as a form of greeting. Despite this, she smiles at you in a friendly sort of way, and the two of you resume walking after a moment.

“So…” Mei murmurs, “What’s _Genji_ like?”

“What’s a Genji?” you ask, confused.

“The cyborg man you sat next to on the dropship.” Mei clarifies, giving you a look like she’s mentally ratcheting her opinion of you down a few notches. “His name is Genji Shimada. I saw you talking with him a few times during the flight. What’s he like?”

“I have no idea.” You say, shaking your head sadly. “The conversations were all one-sided. He hasn’t said one word to me.”

“Oh…” Mei murmurs, taken aback. “I guess he’s a little closed-off around strangers.”

“A little?” you mutter with exasperation. “My _can opener_ is less reserved. I take it he’s human inside that armor?”

“Yeah… at least partially.” Mei answers, staring ahead down the stone corridor and looking vaguely disturbed. “He was injured pretty badly a while back. I don’t know the details, but Angela mentioned that he’s mostly cybernetic at this point.” You shake your head, imagining it.

“I’d probably be a little slow to make new friends too.” You observe solemnly. “Which one is Angela?”

“Wow,” Mei blurts out, looking over to you with mild annoyance. “You really don’t know who _any_ of them are, do you?”

Her annoyance is somewhat justified. Many of the Overwatch heroes’ personas were heavily publicized during the Omnic crisis. From what you understand, Overwatch was originally designed to take advantage of the Omnics’ weakness to unique or unconventional battle strategies, with a multitude of members all using unique abilities, technologies, and strategies to defeat the machines. Their unique personalities also made them prime candidates for multi-national morale-building PR campaigns, and their callsign-like designations and/or names became household names as their victories against the Omnics were broadcast around the world.

“Hey, I didn’t have time for holovids when they were all in the public eye last time.” you smirk, holding up an arm. Your forearm begins to glow from within, an unsteady orange light shining out from underneath your skin, as if your muscles are on fire. Mei looks at the display curiously, and you tilt your head at her. “I’ve _kinda_ had my own stuff going on.”

“I suppose you have…” Mei murmurs absently, still watching your arm as the glow fades and you drop it back to your side.

The two of you continue in silence for a few awkward minutes. You feel more than a little self-conscious revealing your abilities, even now. Painful memories swirl around in your head; people being driven away by fear when they see what you can do. The reason you’d been in Paris in the first place was because a scientist with a Parisian tech company thought she had devised a method for suppressing or even _curing_ your condition. You hadn’t had a chance to meet with her before Null-Sector attacked, and-

“Fire and ice, huh?” Mei giggles, bumping your side with a good-natured elbow and interrupting your train of thought. “We’re gonna get along _great.”_ You turn to look at her, your mouth hanging open for a moment, but you find yourself laughing too when you see Mei grinning at you. Something about the open grin juxtaposed with her previously-reserved manner makes her quiet laughter almost as contagious as Reinhardt’s over-the-top bravado.

“Our rivalry vill be glorious!” you announce in an imitation of Reinhardt, spreading your arms dramatically and pounding one fist against your chest.

“At least until the rest of the team makes us mop up afterward.” Mei chuckles, putting a gloved hand to her mouth. “Fire and ice tend to make something of a mess when you combine them.”

You feel a new spring in your step as you see the end of the tunnel opening into a dark and cavernous space ahead. It seems that the spur-of-the-moment decision to join Overwatch after the Null-Sector attack wasn’t as big a mistake as it seemed at first; Mei seems much more friendly than Genji, even after learning about your ability. Perhaps you’ll be able to find some acceptance here, surrounded by other individuals with abilities and abnormal backgrounds. If the rest of the group react the same way as Mei, you might actually find yourself _fitting in_ for the first time in a very long while.

The two of you pass through a doorless aperture and into a huge hangar carved out of the mountainside. The space is gloomy, but there are small windows in the hangar doors, which let in enough light for you to see. In the shadows overhead, a crisscross of gantries, cranes, and equipment clutters the ceiling. However, you see a gigantic mechanical device in the center connected to the two doors by a chain. The door mechanism appears to be a colossal version of a standard garage door opening mechanism with a chain whose links are bigger around than your leg.

You and Mei spot the problem immediately. A crack has formed in the ceiling overhead, and a huge floor-to-ceiling column of ice has formed from water dripping in through the crack. The door mechanism is partially entombed by the ice pillar. Outside, you can hear the faint whine of the dropship’s engines as Tracer waits for you to get the door open.

“This is going to have to be up to you.” Mei says apologetically, looking up at the frozen mechanism. “I normally _cause_ problems like this.” You look at the pillar uncertainly. Even at the narrowest point, it’s bigger around than your shoulders; large enough that melting it will require quite a bit of effort. People don’t generally realize how much energy is required to heat water, especially when changing it from ice to liquid, or from liquid to steam.

“Elsa?” you ask the ceiling.

“Yes, (Name)?” Elsa responds immediately.

“Is there an elevator or a scissor-lift some-” You start to ask, but cut off as you realize something. “Wait, how do you know my name?”

“I learned it when you introduced yourself to Mei.” Elsa replies cheerfully.

“That’s a little creepy.” You grimace, sharing a glance with Mei. “Do you always listen in on other people’s conversations?”

“I am hard-coded to monitor personnel stationed here everywhere except in the living areas at all times.” Elsa responds, sounding faintly apologetic. “The living quarters are exempted from my surveillance for personal privacy, but I am unable to ignore other areas.” 

“Oh well, no harm done I suppose.” You say, looking back up to the frozen door opening mechanism. “The chain for the door is frozen in place by water leaking in from a crack in the roof. Is there any way to get me up to the mechanism by the roof?”

“The best available lifting equipment will only get you three-point-six meters closer to the ceiling.” Elsa responds immediately.

“I guess we’ll do it the hard way.” You grit your teeth, striding over to the pillar of ice. You lean in toward the conical base and place both of your hands against the ice, just as you did with the door earlier.

You strain, and both arms begin to glow, waves of orange light traveling down and spreading along the tips of your fingers before diffusing invisibly into the ice. You can’t see it, but you know that the veins in your neck, and the pupils of your eyes will also be glowing from within; you’ve tried this level of effort before while looking in a mirror. The result is more than a little sinister-looking, and you’re a little glad that your back is to Mei; acceptance of your basic abilities is one thing, but it becomes harder for most people when confronted by your glowing orange pupils. 

The ice swiftly becomes reflective with a thin layer of surface moisture, then begins to steam as the entire column begins to melt from the outside in. You growl in a low voice, and continue to force heat into the frozen structure, the effort severely draining you. Water spatters down, and you look up, watching the ice begin to crack above you as the rapid change in temperature introduces thermal stresses into the pillar. After a few more moments, the top of the pillar shatters, forcing you to jump back frantically, adrenaline causing your heart to beat even faster as basketball-sized chunks of ice tumble down and shatter against the stone floor where you were standing an instant ago.

“Go ahead and try the door again Elsa.” You address the ceiling in a voice that isn’t quite as steady as you’d like it to be. _That would have been supremely embarrassing if I’d managed to brain myself with a chunk of falling ice._

“Understood, trying the doors now.” Elsa responds, and a steady mechanical sound issues from the large box overhead. After a moment, the doors begin to raise. “It appears you were successful (Name)” Elsa observes in a pleased voice. “Well done.”

“Sure thing.” You nod toward the ceiling, not sure if Elsa has video (and thereby the ability to see your nod) or not. You feel a tiredness from the exertion of your abilities, like you’ve just run a marathon. The fatigue isn’t localized to any specific place, and is instead evenly distributed through your entire body. You amble over to the nearest wall, and lean against it, watching as the doors open and Tracer pilots the dropship inside and sets it down.

The doors begin to lower and the ramp on the back of the dropship descends. Before the ramp finishes lowering, a blue blur zips out of the back of the dropship, flickering a few times toward you before materializing into Tracer standing in front of you and Mei. The young woman places two fingers above her right eye, then flicks her wrist toward you in a stylized salute.

“Thanks for the assist Luv!” Tracer says. “I was afraid I was going to have to resort to an ‘improvised landing’ on one of the rooftops back there.”

“Improvised landing?” Mei asks, raising an eyebrow at Tracer.

“A colloquial term among pilots referring to forced landings which allow the crew to survive, but damage the aircraft.” Elsa clarifies unnecessarily from the hangar’s speakers.

“Yeah… that’s it!” Tracer confirms, seeming momentarily taken aback before moving onward with what seems like characteristic speed. She looks over at you, then extends a hand. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced! Lena Oxton, put ‘er there!”

You shake the proffered hand and introduce yourself, but catch Mei wincing slightly out of the corner of your eye as you touch Lena. * _There* it is._ People are always nervous touching you once they know you can potentially burn them. You have enough control over your ability that it hasn’t ever _happened_ , but you can understand the apprehension… even if it still stings sometimes. Lena pauses for a moment, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you, seeming to notice your T-shirt for the first time.

“You’ve got very warm hands, luv.” She says, cocking her head to the side and looking at you curiously. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Uh,” you mumble, resisting the urge to grin at the question. “I’m pretty much immune to the cold.”

“(Name) melted the ice that had the hangar door stuck shut.” Mei clarifies, as you release Lena’s hand. “He’s got some kind of heat ability.”

“Oooh!” Lena exclaims in excitement. In a blink, she’s gone, and you hear her voice from behind you as she examines you. “How does it work?” you turn around, but Lena is in front of you again in a flash of blue light. “I don’t see a device, is it a biological ability?”

“Y-yeah.” You stammer. “Something like that.”

“Ease up Lena.” Mei chides. “Everyone else is waiting for us back in the dining area. We can save the show-and-tell for later.”

“I hope they’ve got water boiling for tea!” Lena exclaims without a second’s pause, zipping over to the hangar’s exit, “What are you two standing around for, come on!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The three of you return from the hangar to the Watchpoint proper without much further conversation. Lena occasionally turns and cheers encouragement for you and Mei to move faster, but you and Mei are taciturn and out of breath from trying to keep pace with your hyperactive British taskmaster. Lena seems to know her way around Watchpoint Antarctica, and she leads you through the base and to an unassuming door on the bottom level of the structure on whose roof she dropped everyone earlier.

Walking through the door, you see a cozy-looking dining area with three rectangular tables set edge-to-edge against a long bench along the wall to your right. Chairs line the other side of the tables opposite the bench. A small industrial-looking kitchen sits behind a counter along the left side of the room, and a narrow aisle runs the length of the space. A yellowish window made of hexagonal polycarbonate cells lets in light from outside and wraps around the end of the room to give a wide panoramic view of the ice and mountains outside.

The rest of the team are clustered around the farthest table, and appear to have prepared some basic food. There is a large bowl of scrambled eggs on the counter, and pot of coffee steaming from the coffee-maker beside it. Reinhardt and Brigitte are sitting closest to the door, and are having some kind of argument. In addition to the eggs and coffee, Brigitte appears to be verbally sparring with Reinhardt over an entire apple pie, her arms wrapped around the dessert, and a knife and fork poised defensively outward on either side. Neither of them notices the door opening as you, Lena, and Mei enter.

Both Reinhardt and Brigitte have removed their armor, and are now wearing matching sweatpants and sweatshirts with a circular silver-and-orange Overwatch logo on them. Behind them, Doctor Ziegler (who you assume is the Angela that Mei mentioned earlier) is still wearing her strange armor. Still further back, sitting in the farthest corner against the wall, the cyborg and the blue and white feminine-looking robot appear similarly unchanged, although you suppose that’s to be expected. As you enter the room, Reinhardt looks at Brigitte with an exasperated expression.

“You can’t possibly eat ze whole sing!” the German man declares with outrage.

“I can too!” Brigitte grumbles back.

“Vatt would your father say!?” Reinhardt returns, evidently trying for a guilt-trip.

“He’d say ‘That’s mah gurrrl!’ and try to eat an entire pie himself!” Brigitte retorts, adopting a strong Swedish accent when imitating her father. Her knife and fork remain poised to either side of the pie. Reinhard seems taken aback for a moment, then laughs uproariously.

“I suppose you come by your gluttony honestly!” he roars, turning back to his own considerable plate of scrambled eggs for a moment before looking up and apparently noticing the three of you entering for the first time and spreading his arms wide in a dramatic but welcoming gesture. “Lena! Mei! (Name)! Come in and have some dinner!”

“Don’t mind if I do!” Lena says, then zips across the dining room in the blink of an eye and kisses Reinhardt on the cheek before disappearing and reappearing in the kitchen. She regards the coffee pot distastefully for a moment, then begins hunting in the cabinets, presumably looking for tea.

You and Mei both serve yourself some eggs and coffee before joining everyone else at the table. You sit next to Brigitte, who is consuming the pie at an alarming rate now that Reinhardt has stopped hassling her. Mei sits across from you, and begins to eat her eggs, appearing unfamiliar with the fork in her hand until Lena blinks over with a pair of chopsticks. A few moments later, Lena blinks back with a metal kettle and holds it out toward you expectantly.

“Help a girl out Luv?” she says, handing you the cold kettle full of water. “I’ll wager you’ll be faster than the stove.” You take the kettle and focus on it. After a few seconds, the spout begins to whistle and expel a stream of steam.

“Cheers, luv!” Lena thanks you, retreating with the teapot. The other people look down the table at you curiously. You feel anxious under their combined stares for a moment before Mei comes to your rescue.

“Maybe we should all introduce ourselves!” Mei suggests. “After all, (Name) and I don’t really know everyone here.”

“Good idea Mei!” Doctor Ziegler agrees. “We’re probably going to be here for at _least_ a couple of weeks laying low while Winston works on getting our status reinstated; we may as well get to know each other. Lena, get over here and join us!”

“One second!” Lena shouts from the kitchen.

A few moments and a few quick zips of blue light later, she appears in the seat next to Mei with a plate of eggs and a steaming cup of tea. She pauses with a fork halfway to her mouth as she realizes the rest of you are looking at her.

“I guess I’ll start then?” Lena guesses aloud with a chuckle, lowering her fork. “I’m Lena Oxton, callsign Tracer!”

“And…? What can you do?” Angela prods.

“Oh!” Lena exclaims, then continues, “I can move really fast, and rewind myself through time!” By way of demonstration, she emits a blue glow from her skin, and rapidly reverses her motions over the past few seconds. When she finishes, the fork with the eggs is back poised in front of her mouth again, and she takes a bite, giggling as she does so. After a pause, Mei clears her throat and speaks up.

“I’m Mei-Ling Zhou, but everyone please just call me ‘Mei’,” Mei begins, giving a little wave to everyone present. “I can… I guess I freeze things and make temporary structures out of ice.” A small object shakes itself from one of the large pockets in Mei’s jacket and floats above the table. A pair of glowing blue eyes appear on an LED display on the machine’s front, and it turns to look at everyone seated around table.

“Oh!” Mei exclaims in a startled voice. “I almost forgot. This is Snowball! Say hi Snowball!” The floating robot lets out a two-note electronic warble that sounds like a very distorted “hello”, then bobs slightly as Lena reaches over to pet it, its LED eyes closing in apparent enjoyment.

“It’s so cute!” Angela coos, clapping her hands together as the robot swirls around Mei and comes to rest atop her head.

“A fine companion!” Reinhardt cheers, his loud voice causing Snowball to startle into the air, then come to rest in Mei’s lap with a resentful-looking glance at the large German man. “I… am Reinhardt Wilhelm! Vith my shielt and my hammer, I vill protect…” He trails off for a moment, staring into space. Brigitte looks smugly up from her dessert.

“You juff now remembered the hammuh?” she says mockingly around a mouthful of pie.

“I forgot my hammer!” Reinhardt exclaims in shock. “I left it leaning against a car back in Paris!”

“My dadf gonna be fo mad…” Brigitte mumbles before taking a drink of coffee and swallowing her pie. “That’s the fourth time you’ve left it somewhere.”

“Ah, vell…” Reinhardt stammers, rubbing the back of his head with embarrassment for a moment before the fierce gleam returns to his eyes. “I still have my shielt!” Brigitte rolls her eyes, but smiles as she returns to her pie.

“I’m Angela Ziegler.” The blonde woman sitting on the opposite side of Reinhardt says, leaning forward to avoid being blocked by Reinhardt’s bulk and waving to you and Mei. “I can fly, heal injuries, and bring people back from death.”

 _How does THAT work?_ You wonder in shock. Before you can ask the question however, Brigitte noisily coughs on her coffee and turns to Angela.

“Wait,” Brigitte implores, holding out a hand as she clears her throat, “Is _that_ what you did to Mei? That wasn’t just healing? She was _dead!?_ ” Angela looks a little uncomfortable.

“Yes and no.” she says, holding her hand horizontal, then wavering it back and forth. “I use my staff for healing. However, if the body sustains too much damage, it won’t respond to normal biotic fields any more. All the ingredients for a healthy person are still there, but they’re… out of alignment. I’ve always had the ability to deliver a… a sort of _push_ to get the body restarted after it… shuts down. I used this ability to get Mei back on her feet.”

“Shuts down…” you muse aloud. “How ‘shut down’ can they be?” Angela gives you a flat, mildly reproachful look.

“I’m not a necromancer; I can’t bring back a skeleton or something, although…” she stares into space for a moment, then shudders. “…It _has_ been done.” She pauses for another long moment, shudders again, then continues “Not by me though! My ability only works for about ten seconds after someone has been rendered clinically dead.”

“Well that’s… useful.” You say, trying to imagine what it would feel like to be brought back from death.

“As most of us here can attest!” Reinhardt agrees loudly, smacking his chest for emphasis.

“That’s for sure, Luv!” Lena adds, nodding to you and Mei. “A lot of us wouldn’t be here without Angela!”

“Especially not me.” An electronic-sounding voice with a strong Japanese accent adds from the corner. With muted shock, you realize it’s Genji; this is the first time you’ve heard him speak. Genji seems to realize that now is as good a time as any to introduce himself, so he continues. “I’m Genji Shimada. The cyborg frame into which Angela managed to place my revived body gives me superior reflexes and speed. I fight with shurikens and agility.”

“And swords!” Reinhardt adds approvingly, raising a coffee cup in Genji’s direction as if in a toast.

“Yes. And swords.” Genji agrees curtly with a nod.

“What about the dragons Genji?” Angela prods, “Do the dragon thing!” Genji looks at her, his cyborg shoulders hunching a little bit.

“It’s a centuries-old spiritual technique passed down through my family, Angela… it’s not a party trick.” Genji responds sternly. However, Angela isn’t dissuaded, and reaches an arm around Genji’s cyborg shoulder, shaking him back and forth good-naturedly.

“Oh come on!” Angela pleads. “It’s not like the dragons mind, right?”

“Fine.” Genji sighs, picking up a butter knife and looking at it for a moment. Suddenly, he shouts, “Ryujin no ken-wo KURAE!!!”, and a tiny green dragon swirls briefly around the butter knife before disappearing. Genji then picks up a fork and shears effortlessly through, cleaving the top off the fork and leaving only a handle held in his fingers. The edge of the handle glows orange where the knife cut through it. After a few seconds, Genji places the knife back on the table to a smattering of applause.

Everyone turns to the white robot lady on the aisle-side across from Genji. Unlike everyone else, she isn’t using a chair, but is instead sitting primly in mid-air on top of a pair of insect-like wings that have folded beneath her like a seat. She glances around at the expectant faces, then perks up a bit, bobbing in the air.

“I’m Echo!” the she says in a friendly artificial feminine voice similar to Elsa’s, but smoother and more melodic. “I can fly, shoot various forms of plasma, and form myself into a temporary copy of a target.” Her form shimmers for a moment, becomes cloaked in swirling rectangular hologram/shield panels, and is swiftly replaced with a holographic blue representation of Reinhardt. The holographic Reinhardt pounds his chest with a fist and yells “I’m Reinhardt, and I yell a lot!” The voice is a curious overlay of Echo’s own voice and a perfect reproduction of Reinhardt’s gruff German accent.

Echo-Reinhardt pauses before the hologram vanishes, revealing her white plasticine form once more. She bows gracefully before resuming her sitting position. Everyone around the table laughs, including Reinhardt, who doubles over and smacks the table with a huge fist, his explosive outburst of mirth causing coffee to slop out of Brigitte’s cup. Brigitte glares at him for a moment, then turns to the rest of the group.

“I’m Brigitte Lindholm.” She announces as she mops up her spilled coffee with a napkin, wiping the sides of her cup clean, then balling up the napkin. “I’m Reinhardt’s…” she trails off, searching for the right word.

“Squire!” Reinhardt finishes before Brigitte can, earning himself a balled-up napkin to the face. Brigitte shrugs and continues.

“More or less. I help keep Reinhardt’s armor and weapons in working condition, and I have my own set, although I’ve made quite a few modifications to the Crusader design.” She nods to Angela “I’ve added in a biotic generator system that can help to keep my allies in peak shape during a fight.”

“I’d love to have a look at it sometime.” Angela responds, seeming interested. Brigitte nods respectfully, then shrugs again.

“I feel like _most_ of the time my most important ability is keeping the old meathead over there from getting himself killed.” She grins at Reinhardt, who sputters indignantly.

“Old!?” He shouts, “Meathead!? Such insolence! Vere’s your respect!?”

“Back in Paris with your hammer.” Brigitte smarms back without a pause, leading to further spluttering from Reinhardt for a moment. Then he turns to you.

“And at last Ve come to ze new guy!” He booms, pointing a meaty finger at you. You raise a hand in a small wave at the rest of the people seated at the tables.

“I’m (Name)” you say awkwardly, “And I… uh… I can generate intense heat.” You hold up a hand in front of you, and a brief effort of will causes your forearm and fingers to glow from within. A small flame the size of a golf ball pops into existence between your index finger and thumb as you focus the heat on the air there.

“Fascinating.” Angela murmurs, staring at the flickering ball of flame between your fingers. After a few seconds, she turns to meet your eyes, and you have to fight to hold her gaze, embarrassment trying to drag your own eyes downward. “How does it work?”

“I’m not exactly sure.” You respond honestly, relaxing your arm and allowing the fire and the orange glow to fade. Some kind of experimental procedure to amplify bioelectricity or something. I signed up in college because I figured I could use the extra money. As far as I know, the procedure didn’t do much of anything for any of the other subjects, but I got… this.” The others nod solemnly.

“You don’t sound French.” Genji observes. “What were you doing in Paris?”

“Honestly?” you ask, shaking your head, “Trying to get rid of my abilities.” Genji nods slightly, seeming to understand. However, the others around the table look at you with surprise.

“Why would you want to do that, Luv?” Lena asks you, leaning across the table and putting a hand on yours in apparent concern. You look at the hand in surprise for a moment before responding, trying not to savor how good her touch feels.

“My abilities tend to scare people.” You explain, staring into space as painful memories shuffle restlessly in your head. “They’re always afraid that I’m going to burn them or set fire to something unexpectedly. A lot of them won’t admit that I make them uncomfortable, but they just kind of… drift away.” You gesture to Lena’s hand on yours. “Lena, I think you’re the first person who’s _ever_ willingly touched me after they’ve seen what I can do.”

“Sounds lonely.” Angela observes gently, and you nod, refusing to acknowledge the lump in your throat.

“And yet…” Genji continues, breaking a silence that was rapidly becoming uncomfortable, “You chose to join Overwatch. Why?” You consider your answer for a long moment.

“I guess…” you begin, still not fully clear on your reasoning yourself, “I guess it just felt right, you know? During the attack on Paris, I was able to take out a few Null-Sector units; melted them to scrap. It felt… it felt kinda good to use my abilities for something. It’s like… if I can turn what happened into a positive, people might see me differently, and I might see _myself_ differently too. Does that make sense?”

“More than you realize.” Genji says calmly. “You sound like me shortly after my… difficulties. You and Master Zenyatta should speak sometime; he taught me much about accepting myself.”

“I sink you’ll find Overwatch a very accepting group!” Reinhardt announces joyfully, gesturing around the table. “Many of its members have strange abilities.” He gestures to Lena “Ze ability to revind time,” He points to Genji “Reflexes fast enough to deflect bullets,” He points an accusing finger at Brigitte, who pauses with a fork halfway to her mouth, “Ze appetite to eat an entire pie…”

“Hey!” Brigitte protests, but Reinhardt moves on before she can speak further.

“Ve are more practiced than most at embracing ze strange.” He concludes.

“Indeed.” Angela adds, looking around at the others for a second before looking back to you with a smile. “I, for one, am glad to have you _and_ Mei on the team!”

“Here, Here!” Reinhardt bellows, raising his coffee cup. A murmur of agreement passes around the table. Mei blushes, and you find yourself smiling; it seems like Overwatch might be a place you can fit in, even _with_ your abilities.

 _Speaking of which, is it naptime yet?_ You think, stifling a yawn. You’ve used your powers more in the last twenty-four hours than in the prior _year_ , and they’ve taken a toll on your body, leaving you feeling exhausted, despite the clock on the wall showing only late afternoon. Then again, who knows what time zone you’re in right now.

“Not to cut the party short, but I’m kinda wiped out.” You say apologetically. “I think I might turn in early.”

“Are you all right?” Angela asks, concerned. You wave a reassuring hand at the question.

“I’m fine, I’ve just used my ability too much today. Activating it draws some energy from my body just like hard exercise. I’ll be fine after some rest.” You stand and walk to the door, giving everyone a wave before the door closes behind you.

The base is still strewn with snow, and a harsh wind blows past, funneled and accelerated by the surrounding buildings. You allow yourself to feel the cold for a few moments before you use your heat ability to insulate yourself from it. Glancing up, you see a speaker set into the ceiling above the door.

“Elsa?” you ask.

“Yes, (Name)?” Elsa’s voice responds immediately from the speaker.

“Can you point me toward the living quarters?” You realize with a hint of embarrassment that you left the dining area with no idea where you were actually _going_.

“Certainly.” Elsa responds without apparent judgement. “There are two units on the upper floor of the building you just vacated.”

“Uh… any _other_ living quarters?” you ask, hunching your shoulders a bit as you imagine walking back past everyone. _Don’t mind me, just walked out into the snow and got lost._

“There is a single unit on the top of the building to your left.” Elsa supplies helpfully. “The stairway is in an alcove at your five-o-clock. Please be advised that I have not started heating this unit yet.”

“That won’t be a problem.” You assure her, smiling to yourself.

“You cross a small open courtyard and find an access panel that opens onto a set of narrow stairs. The stairs lead up inside the raised boxy second floor of the building. The first area appears to be a storage room, and is partially cluttered with hastily-stowed boxes, no doubt left over from when Watchpoint Antarctica was shut down five years ago. However, past the boxes, another door opens on what appears to be a small apartment.

The layout sort of resembles a hotel room. The walls are free of decorations, and the floor is carpeted in a soft grey low-pile carpet. A single-person bed piled high with white blankets sits in the far-right corner of the room, leaving most of the space open. Directly to your right, a small bathroom contains a sink, toilet, and a small walk-in shower. To your left, a small two-door armoire is set into a recess in the wall. Next to it, a black electronic panel is set into the wall, although the screen is currently dark. 

Opening the armoire, you find more of the plain sweats that Reinhardt and Brigitte had changed into, and they appear to be close enough to your size for you to wear them, which is lucky, since you didn’t bring a change of clothes with you. You strip down and shower briefly, rinsing off in cold water that becomes hot as it nears your skin, and then change into the sweats. The room has a few small windows that look out across the courtyard, and small particles tick against them in an irregular tempo as the turbulent wind howling through the Watchpoint blows the bits of ice and snow around.

You make your way to the bed and burrow under the covers, listening to the irregular sound of the wind and the snow against the composite glass-like material of the windows. You’d intended to reflect on the day’s incredible events; In less than 24 hours, you’d used your abilities to fight murderous robots, joined Overwatch, and flown halfway across the world, not to mention meeting some incredible new people. However, the white-noise has a hypnotic quality to it, and you fall asleep so fast that you don’t even remember resting your head on the pillow.

_____

You wake briefly, unsure what roused you. Underneath the covers, sounds are muffled and distorted, but the air outside them is surprisingly cold even for you, so you don’t emerge from underneath your blankets. The light in the room has diminished to almost nothing, complete or near-complete darkness having fallen outside during the indeterminate amount of time you’ve slept. As you drift, semi-conscious, a new sound enters the white noise; a low hissing. You briefly come more fully awake, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound, thinking that it sounds almost like the shower running. Your sleep-addled mind concludes that it’s simply a disturbance in the direction of the wind, changing the sound of the snow and ice against the building. You close your eyes, and swiftly drift back into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully some of the tags will make more sense after this chapter :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

You wake once more to a shuffling of the thick blankets on top of you. For a brief moment, your mind, still shaking off the haze of sleep, has trouble interpreting the sensation. _Falling out of bed? Covers sliding off?_ A body settles onto the bed, and a pair of arms quests through the sheets, wrapping around you for a moment before pausing, feeling at you, then withdrawing with a convulsive jerk. 

“Eeeep!” a female voice yelps loudly beside you, the sound filling you with a surge of adrenaline that catapults you from half-asleep into full awareness. The covers flutter madly as whoever just tried to climb into bed with you exits at high speed. You sit up, struggling to push back the thick blankets.

Finally freeing yourself from the covers enough to see the room, you spot _Angela_ standing in a wary half-crouch a pace or two back from the bed, one hand to her mouth. Her hair is down, curling around her shoulders and back instead of up in a ponytail, and she’s replaced her winged armor with a pair of the now-ubiquitous Overwatch sweatpants and a plain white tank top. The changes make her seem softer and less intimidating somehow; a stark contrast to the look of indignation in her eyes. The hand held to her mouth in surprise becomes a tightly balled fist. She stands up straight and holds her arms rigidly to her side, hands clenched in tight fists in a posture to match the blooming outrage in her expression.

“(Name)!?,” she demands, “What are you doing in my quarters! Explain yourself!”

“ _Your_ quarters?” you return with confusion.

“Yes!” Angela spits impatiently. “Elsa assigned everyone their quarters, and she sent me to this room. What are you doing here!?”

“Whoa, whoa,” you mumble, raising a placating hand in her direction, still trying to shake the cobwebs out of your tired brain. “Elsa sent _me_ here too.” You glance at one of the apparently universal speakers set into the ceiling, “Elsa, what gives?” Angela shakes her head, walking over to a small wall console.

“She doesn’t monitor the living areas.” Angela explains, not taking her eyes off you as she palms the panel, causing the touchscreen to illuminate. She taps an icon, and Elsa’s voice issues from the overhead speaker.

“How may I assist?” Elsa asks in a helpful tone.

“Elsa,” Angela frowns at the speaker, “You appear to have assigned me and (Name) to the same room.”

“Yes Doctor Ziegler.” Elsa confirms, a slight touch of confusion in her voice. “I assigned everyone’s quarters.”

“Then why are Ang- Why are Doctor Ziegler and I in the same room?” you chime in. _Probably a bad time to start calling her by her first name right now._

“There are not enough rooms for the number of individuals currently stationed at this Watchpoint.” Elsa explains matter-of-factly, oblivious to both you and Angela frowning at the speaker. “Watchpoint Antarctica was designed for minimal staffing. As such, I was forced to assign more than one individual to the larger rooms. In the other cases, I used standard dormitory protocols. However, I have been authorized to override those protocols in cases such as this one, where a preference has been expressed.”

“Preference?” Angela asks warily, shooting you an evaluating glance out of the corner of her eye. “(Name) expressed a preference to…?” she pauses for a moment, and you think she’s blushing, but have a hard time telling in the faint light. “He expressed a preference to share a room with me?” her gaze remains on you, expression unreadable. 

“No Doctor Ziegler.” Elsa corrects, “ _You_ expressed a preference to share (Name)’s room.”

“I did _no_ such thing!” Angela protests indignantly, her head snapping up to glare at the speaker, and her fists balling at her sides again. “Elsa, run a self-diagnostic, I believe you are malfunctioning.”

“Self-diagnostic completed.” Elsa responds after a few seconds. “I am functioning at 100% capacity. Perhaps you simply don’t remember; You expressed a desire to share close proximity with (Name) to Ms. Lindholm this evening at precisely nineteen hundred hours, thirty-four minutes.”

“ _No_ ,” Angela argues, placing her hands on her hips stubbornly as she bickers with the A.I. “I never said-” she cuts off as a pop sounds from the speaker, and a recorded conversation begins to play through it.

“What do you think of him Angela?” Brigitte’s voice issues from the speaker, slightly tinny-sounding from the recording.

“Oh, he’s _qvite_ something.” Angela responds, her Swiss accent further emphasizing her… interest? Even with the dubious quality of the recording, her comment sounds almost _appreciative_ to your ears.

“His abilities are certainly interesting...” Brigitte continues, then pauses for a moment. When she speaks again, she sounds a little uncomfortable, a tone in her voice that you recognize all too well “He seems kind of lonely though; did you see how he reacted when Lena touched his hand? I don’t think anyone has been close to him in quite a while.”

“I would imagine so.” Angela’s recorded voice responds, sounding angry. “People can be so callous sometimes. I feel for the poor man.” You glance over at Angela, and see that she’s staring at the speaker, still too confused and focused on why Elsa assigned the two of you as roommates to realize how her private words might affect you in this context. _She feels for me? Feels what? Sympathy? Pity?_

“But…” the recording of Brigitte continues, a sly tone entering her voice “He’s _handsome_ , isn’t he?” The recorded Angela lets out a suppressed giggle, and an enthusiastic “Mmmm-hmmm.” in response. In your mind’s eye, you can almost see her biting her lower lip and nodding. Across the room, the _real_ Angela’s mouth drops open.

“You’re not bothered by his ability?” Brigitte asks with surprise. Across the room, Angela’s eyes go wide with horror. She glances at you for a frozen instant, then whirls, stumbling in her haste as she lurches toward the wall panel. However, she’s too slow to cut off the next recoded sentence.

“Let’s just say,” the recording of Angela answers in a conspiratorial tone, “I wouldn’t mind him keeping _me_ warm at night.”

“ _Angela!”_ Brigitte’s recorded voice bursts out in shock, followed by a giggle that cuts off with a _pop_ as Angela slaps at the control panel on the wall, shutting off Elsa’s access, and thereby cutting the recording short.

Angela stands against the wall with her back turned to you, head hanging and shoulders hunched, hand still pressed against the now-dark control panel, as if the pressure could call back the recorded words. An incoherent, strangled, but _protracted_ wail of embarrassment issues from the back of her throat, and she sinks to the floor, releasing the wall and pressing her forehead against it, her hands on her cheeks. You can’t see her expression, but _you’re_ blushing furiously, so you can just imagine what Angela’s face looks like right now.

 _So, she… likes me?_ You think, head spinning. Whatever you’d expected, you certainly weren’t ready for _that._ Angela lets out another inarticulate groan of embarrassment, and slumps a little more against the wall, seeming to want to press through it and escape the awkwardness of the moment.

“Well…” you begin unsurely. “I… I guess that’s why she assigned us to the same room.”

“MMMmmmmmmHHHNNnnnnnnnnn” Angela whimpers into the wall, lightly bumping her head against the flat surface, the gesture making a rhythmic, barely-audible _thunk… thunk… thunk._

“Angela?” you ask cautiously, leaning toward her and peering at her curiously. She turns toward you, her face beet red, her expression miserable, but also… expectant? You get the distinct feeling that you could really hurt her feelings if you choose the wrong thing to say next. “I… thanks. For… uh… for not being scared of me.” Angela pauses for a moment, then nods curtly, evidently not trusting herself to speak. She doesn’t meet your eyes, but sits with her hands in her lap, her loose bangs curling down over her face and obscuring her expression.

You open your mouth to speak again, but close it immediately as indecision paralyzes your vocal cords. Part of you would like to acknowledge Angela’s apparent feelings about you, but you don’t want to make her feel pressured or put on-the-spot. She didn’t exactly volunteer the information; Elsa just blabbed it. At the same time, you’re afraid that if you offer to leave, she’ll take it as a rejection. Several moments pass, and you decide to leave the decision up to her.

“I can sleep warm wherever,” you start, trying to sound casual and not sure whether or not you’re succeeding. “If you want, I’ll sleep on the floor and you can have the bed… Or I can sleep out in the other room if that would make you more comfortable. Or…?” You leave the third option unspoken, the half-question seeming to make the tension in the air between the two of you thrum like the plucked string of a musical instrument.

Angela looks up at you, meeting your eyes for a moment, then looking down again. You see her lips press to a line, then she looks back up at you, a look of determination now unmistakably showing in her face. The expression, combined with her posture and the continued redness of her cheeks looks comical… and somehow very, _very_ cute _._ She stands up and walks over, then hesitantly perches on the edge of the bed next to you. She remains silent for a long moment, and you sit tensely, not sure what to make of her.

“I…” She starts, nervous voice failing to match her determination from a moment ago. “You… I mean…Hnnkk.” She breaks off with another embarrassed whimper in the back of her throat, and she scrunches her eyes tightly shut and balls her fists for a moment before murmuring in a near-whisper, “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Y-yeah.” You stammer, your voice falling a little bit. _What did I think was going to happen? Just because she isn’t scared by my ability, and she thinks I’m attractive, she’s not going to just *throw* herself at me._ “I… I get it… no big deal, I mean-” your nervous stuttering is cut off as Angela reaches over to rest a hand on top of your leg where it sits underneath the blankets.

“That doesn’t mean…” she says slowly, raising her eyes to meet yours with a bold stare “…that I didn’t mean it.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

You process the mental equivalent of a record-scratch, the combination of Angela’s words and her stare causing your brain to lock up for a moment. Angela holds your gaze, her eyes becoming a little uncertain. However, she doesn’t turn away. In the faint light, her blue eyes seem to shine, liquid light reflecting out from them. Her gaze is intense, reserved… and yet somehow demanding. Your heart begins to beat rapidly in your chest. _She’s *so* pretty…_

Angela stands slowly, then reaches down and raises the edge of the thick layer of covers on the bed. She looks at you, wordlessly asking permission to continue. You scooch over against the wall, and she lifts the covers all the way up and crawls into the bed with you. The bed is only really sized for one person, so she snuggles right up against you, still looking at you as she presses her body to yours. She lays down on her left side, reaching an arm around underneath your neck, then reaching up with the other to run her fingers lightly through your hair.

 _Ohhh… wowww…_ you think, shuddering slightly at Angela’s touch. This close, you can smell her, a faint hint of something like vanilla or lilies registering to your senses alongside the scents of clean skin and hair, and a slight bit of mint on her breath. Angela traces her fingers lightly past your face, resting them against the side of your jaw and looking at you fondly, the expression devastating at such close range.

A tingle shoots down your spine; you knew you had been missing the feeling of being touched, but you don’t think you’ve _ever_ felt like _this;_ Angela’s fingers against your skin are too good to be believed. You puff out an exhalation like you’ve been punched as the feeling briefly takes your breath away. Despite how good Angela’s touch feels, you find yourself wincing against the delicious but unfamiliar sensation, a sort of nervous anxiety infecting your muscles and posture. Angela notices, and pauses.

“You’re so tense…” she observes quietly, her eyes searching yours. She seems a little shy herself; still unsure whether or not her touches are welcome. 

“I-I’m just…” you stammer, then explain lamely, “I’m not used to this.”

“Is it okay?” She asks placing a hand on your chest with concern, then she seems to realize that she’s still touching you, and pulls the hand back against herself.

“Itsokay!” you blurt out too quickly, seeming to startle Angela for a moment. Then she smiles slightly, your hasty reassurance convincing her. Her hand tentatively reaches back to continue stroking the hair on the side of your head. She snuggles in a little closer as well, looking up at you with a twinkle in her eyes. Then, she stops and seems to blush deeper.

“Would you… hold me?” she asks quietly, looking up at you with eyes that reflect more than a hint of eagerness.

For a moment, you’re not sure _how_ to do so; you’re only sure that you desperately _want_ to. However, instincts that you didn’t know you possessed guide your hands, and you reach an arm between Angela’s waist and the mattress, wrapping around her and pulling her to you. You rest your other hand on her hip, and after a moment, you begin to move the hand back and forth, caressing her hip and following the curve of her waist, the motion smooth, but hesitant. Angela sighs softly, nuzzling against you a bit and feeling very warm. However, she seems to notice your hesitation, and she looks up at you curiously.

“Not very familiar with this either?” she asks, her tone not teasing, but instead compassionate and genuinely curious.

“N-no.” you admit with an exhale, blushing harder and feeling a renewed surge of tension; this is unfamiliar territory to you, and you’re not sure how to act. “I’m sorry. S-should I stop?” Angela laughs softly, but reaches down to cover your hand on her waist with her own, squeezing it reassuringly,

“You’re fine.” She assures you with a squeeze and a smile. “I guess neither of us are used to being so forward, but this is… nice~.” She draws the last word out appreciatively, pressing against you a little more and closing her eyes in relaxation.

You continue to caress Angela, running your hand up to rub the outside of her shoulder. After a few minutes, you feel your tension beginning to fall away. A part of your mind had been convinced that Angela, like most people, would be afraid that your ability would burn her, and would react to your touch by flinching or tensing. However, she seems to genuinely enjoy the contact, and you find yourself strangely relaxed by her gentle sighs as you hold her. It seems that she’s nearly as hungry for physical affection as you are, and _both_ of you seem to be enjoying simply being together like this.

As your anxiety retreats, you feel a deep sense of gratitude toward Angela, and you try to wordlessly express this feeling with your touches, feeling her warm skin under your fingers as you reach up to affectionately caress the outside of her arm. Her embrace has comforted you beyond your ability to describe, and the sense of acceptance from her is an unfamiliar but beautiful thing. You tentatively reach up and stroke her loose blonde hair where it falls down past her ear towards her shoulder. The silky feeling is mesmerizing, and you close your eyes, resting your head back against the pillow and gently stroking Angela’s hair.

However, after some time passes, Angela seems to you like she’s… waiting for something. Her eyes have been closed, but you see her open them and glance at you for a moment, then close them again. You look down, and you think you can detect a hint of something in her expression; her brow is furrowed slightly, as if confused or annoyed. Whatever it is, she obviously doesn’t feel like she can say anything outright about it.

She shifts against you, pressing in with her hips, the sensation causing your previously-dissipating blush to rekindle. Until this moment, first your anxiety, and then your sense of relaxation and comfort have lulled you into a drowsy failure to realize that you’re holding a _woman_ in your arms. Suddenly, you are acutely aware of where her breasts pressing against your chest as you hold her. She presses her hips against you again, and you catch her brow furrow, then she opens her eyes and looks up at you with a strange expression.

 _Wait…_ you think, a flash of intuition arriving with sudden hurried clarity, as if the realization is somehow aware of how tardy it is. _Does she want to… to go *further*!? Is she confused because I’m not …hard?_ You once again find yourself anxious and paralyzed, not sure if you’re reading the situation correctly. Thanks to your turbulent and uncertain mental state, your body still doesn’t react to Angela.

You look down, meeting her gaze. Several expressions flicker across Angela’s face in rapid succession: confusion, uncertainty, determination, then confusion and uncertainty again. She looks down slightly, not quite meeting your eyes, and you see a decision cross her face as you feel a pressure on the back of your neck. You blink in surprise as you realize that she’s pulling you toward her, and that she’s not meeting your eyes because she’s looking at your _lips_.

She closes her eyes, and yours shoot open for a moment as your lips meet hers and she kisses you. Your hesitation only lasts for a second and you kiss her back, eyes fluttering closed. You wrap your arms around her pulling her to you and savoring the tender softness of her lips against yours. After a few moments, Angela pulls back, gently releasing your lower lip from between hers and looking back up at you, her expression blending satisfaction, arousal, and a slight knowing smirk as she opens her eyes.

“That was… amazing…” You breathe, holding her close. Angela’s grin widens, and she shrugs a little.

“I got the sense that you weren’t certain about a few things.” She murmurs nonchalantly.

“Uh… yeah.” You say, grinning back but still a little embarrassed. “I _did_ say that I’m not used to this, right?” 

“You did...” Angela agrees with a nod, then grins at you. “Am I a little clearer now?”

“Yeah,” You sigh, leaning in to kiss her again. Angela melts into the kiss with a small eager whimper, pressing in once more with her hips as your lips meet hers.

This time, you find yourself becoming physically aroused by the contact, and by Angela’s passionate kiss. You pull your hips back slightly, and Angela opens her eyes a little, pinning you with a sultry look that takes away what little of your breath you’d managed to recover. Her own respiration seems to be coming in short, shallow breaths, her chest pressing against you with each one. She looks at you for a moment, biting her lower lip and not bothering to hide her own arousal. However, she notes your continued hesitation, and her seductive expression fades slightly, becoming mixed with curiosity once more.

“You haven’t been with a woman in a long time (Name), have you?” She asks gently. You pause for a long moment, not sure how to best answer the question.

“No, I… I haven’t.” you sigh finally, hoping the sharp pang of remembered loneliness doesn’t show in your voice or expression.

“Are you nervous because it’s been a while? Am I…?” Angela begins, suddenly seeming anxious and self-conscious. When she resumes, her voice is quiet. “Am I going too fast?”

Before you respond, you pull Angela to you, sitting up and wrapping her in an embrace. You lean down and kiss her lightly, ignoring the room’s cold air as the covers fall back. When you break the kiss, Angela looks bemused, but still intent and curious. You lean your head against hers, not meeting her eyes, but speaking softly into her ear.

“You’re fine Angela.” You murmur, rubbing a hand against the back of her shoulder. “I don’t think I would have known how to react if you hadn’t been willing to be bold. This is…” you sigh, feeling Angela against you. “This is really nice. I just…” your words taper off, your mind struggling to find a way to express the specifics of how you’re feeling.

 _I want to savor it._ You think, _I don’t want to discourage her, but I also don’t wanna miss the simple parts. Will she understand that, or will I sound like I’m trying to let her down gently?_

Before you can speak again, Angela snuggles against you affectionately, nuzzling her head in against your neck and leaning into you. It takes you by surprise, and you look down at her as she smiles with her eyes closed, seeming relaxed and happy. She sighs softly, and when she speaks, her voice is quiet.

“It’s okay, there’s no rush.” She assures you, opening her eyes and looking up at you with a smile that appears genuine, if a little fragile. “As long as I know that you… that you’re interested in me too… well,” She snuggles back against you, and finishes the thought in a whisper, “I’m not going anywhere. We can explore this... See where it goes.”

“I _do_ like you Angela.” You assure her. You lean over and kiss the loose blonde hair on the top of her forehead, which causes Angela to giggle, looking up at you with a smile. However, you also feel her shiver slightly, and when you brush her shoulder, you feel goosebumps for which you can’t take credit. “Are you cold?”

“A little?” Angela responds, shivering slightly. “Can you…?” she lets the question hang. In response, you exert a little of your ability, closing your eyes to keep the glow from showing. A bubble of comfortable heat forms around you, and Angela gasps causing you to wince. However, she immediately holds you more tightly, sighing in enjoyment. You open an eye, looking down at her curiously.

“You’re not freaked out?” you ask, letting your ability relax now that the bed and the surrounding air are warm.

“ _Should_ I be?” she retorts, giving you an arched eyebrow.

“Well… no…” you shrug. Angela laughs softly, then pulls you back down to the mattress, throwing the covers over the two of you, then snuggling close.

“Hmmmm~.” She purrs, “I _definitely_ don’t mind you keeping me warm.” Strangely, talking under the covers like this makes you feel like a kid at a sleepover, whispering under the blankets because you’re supposed to be asleep. The throwback to a more innocent time in your life makes you smile, and gives you an idea.

“Angela?” you ask softly.

“Mmmm?” she responds.

“Do you want to… go on a date with me?” You suggest, the words sounding a little silly now that they’re no longer just in your head. Angela pauses for a moment.

“A date…” She muses, and you find yourself holding your breath, strangely nervous. _Yep; just like when I was a kid._ Luckily, after a moment’s pause, Angela chuckles good-naturedly. “Sure! When and where?”

“Hmmmm,” you pause as you consider, “How about tomorrow at seven… meet outside this building?”

“Zuper!” Angela says, her Swiss accent making the word sound a little strange. However, the sentiment is clear; she’s actually looking forward to it.

Angela settles in and snuggles against you a little more gently, relaxing down against your hand underneath her head on the pillow and angling herself slightly, no longer pressing in with her whole body, but keeping herself face-to-face with you. She closes her eyes, one arm stretched out in the gap between your head and shoulder, one gently on top of yours where it still rests on her waist. Your head is only a few inches away from hers when you follow suit and relax against the pillow.

“Don’t let go of me, all right?” she whispers, eyes closed.

“I won’t.” you murmur, kissing her forehead. Angela smiles, not opening her eyes. You gently rub the hair at her temple with the thumb of the hand underneath her head, eliciting a soft sigh from her. 

After a few minutes, Angela’s breathing changes, growing slower. Your own eyes start to droop, and you feel surprisingly relaxed. You’ve always been something of a loner, and never thought you could feel so peaceful with someone else so close, but Angela’s presence is comforting in a way you’ve never felt before. A slight squeak from her causes you to open your eyes, but Angela appears to be sound asleep. Every third or fourth breath, she lets out a faint whimper or sigh, and you find the tiny sounds incredibly cute. Feeling a smile on your own face, you drift off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The next morning, you wake with dawn, the yellow tint of the window’s composite material doing strange things to the morning sunlight as it streams in through into the room. Opening your eyes, you find yourself face-to-face with a still-sleeping Angela. Her expression is relaxed and her hair is a little messy; a few loose curls have fallen down across her face. You pause, taking a moment to relish how cute she is. The feeling of waking up to a pretty face is unfamiliar to you, but it’s impossibly pleasant. You sigh, reaching out and brushing the hair out of Angela’s eyes, causing her to stir. Her eyelids flutter open, and she focuses on you. Then she smiles.

“Good morning (Name).” she mumbles sleepily, wriggling closer against you under the covers.

“Good morning Angela.” You murmur back softly, leaning in and kissing her forehead. “Thank you.”

“HmMmm~,” she sighs, enjoying your affection. “For what?” You tilt your head down, putting your mouth next to the side of her head.

“For being here and letting me wake up to something so beautiful.” You whisper in her ear, then kiss her neck lightly before pulling away. Angela blushes furiously, the color standing out starkly next to the white of the sheets and her shirt, but she also beams at the comment.

The two of you just lie there for a few minutes, gradually waking up and snuggling together. The air outside the covers has grown cold overnight, and Angela hugs tightly to you, letting you keep her warm. You gently brush the side of her face with your hand, relaxing and enjoying the feeling of her next to you. The sunlight coming through the window grows brighter, bringing you more fully awake as it gleams off the white sheets, casting a reflected glow on the room’s ceiling.

As you shake off the last lingering fuzziness of sleep, your mind gradually re-orients; you’re not in Paris, you’re in Antarctica. You joined Overwatch… although you’re still not entirely sure what that _means._

“Are we going to be… late for anything?” you ask Angela, imagining being roused from bed by trumpets playing reveille, or worse: someone coming through doing morning inspections.

“Brigitte might eat your breakfast.” Angela replies with a smile. “Otherwise, probably not. Winston is nominally in charge for now, and until he gives us the all-clear our orders are pretty much limited to ‘Hang out at Watchpoint Antarctica.’ until further notice.”

“Mmmmhhhh.” You say, laying back down and closing your eyes, stroking the hair at the back of Angela’s neck. “I could stay here all day. We’ll have to get up soon, or I’m not going to be able to get up at _all_.”

“Are you sore from yesterday?” Angela asks curiously.

“No… not sore…” you reply, taken aback slightly, “It’s just… hard to get out of a bed when you’re in it with me.”

“I know the feeling~.” Angela groans, wrapping her arms around you more tightly. “Five more minutes?”

“Five minutes.” You agree, ruffling her hair.

Before either of you advance from under the covers, you hold your hand out to the room, and with an slight effort, you heat the air in the room to a comfortable temperature, the rapid change causing a slight puff of breeze as the air becomes turbulent, then settles back down. Angela pokes a foot out from under the covers hesitantly, then turns back to you.

“That’s handy.” She observes, and you shrug.

“My ability has its perks. Any idea what’s on the agenda for Watchpoint Antarctica today?”

“I’m not sure,” she answers, getting up and heading into the bathroom. You extract yourself from under the covers, brushing your fingers briefly through your hair to straighten it, and pulling on your shoes. From the open door, you hear Angela continue, voice muffled as if she’s holding something in her mouth as she speaks, “Moft likely we’ll vee gedding the Otchpoint ready for long-turn occufency.”

You peek around the corner and into the bathroom, searching for the source of the distorted speech, and see Angela pulling her hair back into a pony-tail, a hairband held between her teeth as she uses both hands to wrangle her blonde hair. You open the armoire and exchange your t-shirt for a long-sleeved grey sweatshirt with the Overwatch logo printed on the front; your ability might be able to keep you warm in the Antarctic chill while wearing only a t-shirt and shorts, but doing so would be something of a wasted effort when warmer clothing is available.

“I think I’ll head over to the medical facility after breakfast and see what kind of equipment was left there.” Angela says, emerging from the bathroom now wearing a sweatshirt that matches your own; evidently clothing on Watchpoint Antarctica comes in two flavors: armor, and casual.

“Wanna head over to the dining hall together?” you ask, mentally shaking your head at how good Angela manages to look in the casual clothing. Somehow the slightly oversized sweats manage to still look elegant on her. She ambles over, then ducks behind you and hugs you, acting flirty.

“Why would I want to go alone~?” She asks in a teasing tone. You shrug.

“I dunno… is it a big deal if the others know about…” you gesture vaguely back and forth between yourself and Angela, who laughs and shakes her head, releasing you and sitting down to pull on some tennis shoes.

“I probably won’t _announce_ it or anything,” she explains, tying the shoes, “But it shouldn’t be an issue. Overwatch didn’t have very strict regulations about this sort of thing when we were active last time. I think Jack actually encouraged it. Relationships give you something to fight for, you know?”

“Makes sense.” You agree, choosing not to dwell on how deficient that aspect of your life has been. “Shall we?”

Angela stands, and the two of you head out, walking single-file down the narrow staircase leading to the ground floor. You open the door for Angela, and a blast of sub-zero air blows through, along with a fair amount of fine snow. Angela looks at the door for a moment, then at you. Then she hooks her arm through yours and stands right beside you, leaning her head on your shoulder and looking at you expectantly. You laugh, and use your ability to create a bubble of warmth around the two of you, and then step out the door.

The morning sunlight slants in from outside the cleft in the mountain, the Watchpoint’s buildings casting long shadows. The sky is blue and almost completely free of clouds, although wisps of snow blow across the ground like restless icy ghosts on their morning commute to the drifts that have gathered in places. Evidently there has been some accumulation overnight; several sets of tracks converge from various avenues toward the entrance of the dining area across the courtyard to your right.

You hear a crunching sound from your left, and see Brigitte lurch around the corner of the building, snow caked onto her pants up to the knee. Evidently, wherever _her_ room is located, snow has drifted fairly deep between here and there. Her teeth are visibly chattering, and her face looks miserable. She spots you and Angela, then shuffles over quickly, stomping snow off of her pants and shoes as she draws closer. 

“Angela and (Name)!” she exclaims through her chattering teeth, “Do you guys know if there’s any breakf-” She cuts off as she gets close and reaches the edge of your bubble of warmth “What is _that~?_ ” she sighs in relief, holding out a hand and waving it around as if trying to swat at the warm air.

“Uh, that would be _me_.” You say, exerting a little more effort and expanding the warm area to include Brigitte, who moans in pleasure, sagging slightly and closing her eyes.

“Never leave my side.” She intones in a mock-sultry voice, huddling close to you and Angela and throwing an arm around your shoulder. “I _wondered_ how come Angela was all cozied up to you, but now I _get it._ This is-” Brigitte cuts off as Angela swats Brigitte’s arm around your shoulder.

“Hands off!” Angela snaps in a tone that, while implying good-natured playful scolding, nevertheless leaves no room for argument.

“Hey!” Brigitte protests, pulling back her arm, “What’s the big… deal…” she trails off, looking back and forth at you and Angela arm-in-arm for a second. “…Oh. _Ohhhhh!”_ Brigitte’s eyes widen with comprehension, then go all sparkly. She clasps her hands together and shuffles a bit with excitement; She looks like she’s about to burst into _song_. However, after a few seconds, she regains her composure and coughs unconvincingly. “Ah-Huh. Well, _I’m_ gonna go find some breakfast. You _two…_ wanna come with?”

“That’s where we were headed.” Angela confirms, smirking at Brigitte, whose expression still suggests that she just caught sight of a puppy or something.

The three of you make your way over to the dining hall, Brigitte following close behind you and Angela and making a subdued but high-pitched _eee!_ noise. You all walk through the door, finding Genji behind the counter flipping pancakes with Lena beside him shouting encouragement. Reinhardt and Mei are sitting at a table, enjoying some of his early efforts with butter and syrup on top, the slightly irregular shapes of the pancakes not seeming to bother either of them. Echo is hovering in a sitting position beside Mei, evidently not able to eat the pancakes, but not letting that stop her from joining everyone for breakfast. Lena sees the three of you enter, and disappears from beside Genji, then reappears in front of you.

“Good _mor-_ niiiing!” She greets you all.

“Good morning Lena.” Angela says with a small chuckle.

“Eeeeeeee~.” Brigitte squees quietly behind you. Angela rolls her eyes with a good-natured smirk, then releases you, fingers trailing along your forearm for just a moment before she moves off to grab a pancake. Brigitte nods briefly to Lena, but brushes past you hot on Angela’s heels. Lena watches her scamper off, then turns back, cocking a dark eyebrow at you.

“What’s with her, Luv?” she asks with a puzzled expression.

“That’s a good question.” you mutter, watching Brigitte whisper something in Angela’s ear, then glance back at you before quickly glancing away again. “Cabin fever probably.”

“Well…” Lena says, squinting at Brigitte, then shaking her head. “Angela ought to get her sorted out. Come have some pancakes Luv! I’m teaching Genji!”

Behind her, Genji flicks the frying pan, flipping a pancake into the air with blurring speed. Before the unfortunate half-cooked pancake can splatter against the ceiling, he inverts the pan and whips it around and above, catching the pancake upside down in the pan, and returning it to the stove in the blink of an eye. The cyborg ninja regards the flipped pancake for a moment before nodding to himself.

“Looks like he’s a… fast learner.” You observe.

“He’s got potential.” Lena agrees with satisfaction, watching Genji flip the now-cooked pancake from the pan to Brigitte’s waiting plate across a distance of perhaps fifteen feet. The pancake lands perfectly, despite the fact that Genji wasn’t looking in the direction he flung the cake. “Bit of a show-off though.” Lena adds, giving you a light slap on the shoulder before blurring back over next to Genji and wagging a finger at him.

You briefly contemplate sitting next to Angela and Brigitte, but you get the sense that interrupting Brigitte’s interrogation right now might be a bad idea. Instead, you sit next to Reinhardt and Mei, who appear to have finished their pancakes, and are sipping their hot drinks against the morning chill. Mei is wearing the same snow gear as yesterday, but Reinhardt is wearing a gigantic set of sweats, the legs damp from melted snow; evidently Brigitte wasn’t the only one who had to hike through a drift or two this morning.

“Morning guys.” You greet them as you sit down.

“Ahhhh, (Name)!” Reinhardt bellows, spreading his arms wide as if he means to give you a bear-hug, and you’re briefly thankful for the intervening defensive barrier of the table. “You have excellent timing! I vas just discussing vith our frosty friend here vhatt to do about zis snow!”

“I guess it piled up a bit overnight?” you venture, glancing down at Reinhardt’s damp pants. “Brigitte looked like she had to trudge through it at least knee-deep.”

“Yes.” Reinhardt confirms in a more subdued tone, taking a drink from his coffee and giving Brigitte a sidelong glance. “Not zhat my gluttonous squire couldn’t benefit from ze adversity, but I’d just as soon not have to do ze same sing.”

“I can probably take care of the _snow_ ,” you begin cautiously, “…but I don’t know if I can get rid of all the _water_. Turning it all to steam is probably beyond me, and if we leave a wet patch behind, it’ll freeze. What did this place do before? Snow can’t be a _new_ problem.”

“Watchpoint Antarctica has twenty-five functional maintenance drones that can take over the task of snow removal once activated.” Elsa chimes in from a speaker overhead, causing everyone else not a part of your conversation to turn in confusion before going back to their own chatter.

“Can you activate them now Elsa?” Mei asks.

“Unfortunately, while the maintenance drones are fully charged, the door to their charging and maintenance bay is currently frozen shut.” Elsa informs you regretfully. “I find myself quite embarrassed by the apparent contradiction of snow-removal equipment being inoperable due to the buildup of snow.”

“I’ll de-ice them for you Elsa.” You offer. “How long will it take for them to clear the base once they’re free?”

“I appreciate your continued assistance (Name).” Elsa says gratefully. “Once the drones are active, it should take slightly less than seventeen hours to clear the snow and ice.”

“So long!?” Reinhardt gawks in disbelief.

“Many areas of the Watchpoint have experienced a significant buildup of packed ice over the past five years, and will take time to clear.” Elsa explains. “However, if everyone can give me an indication of where they plan on spending the day, I can clear the doors and pathways to those areas first.”

“That brings up a good question,” Mei says quietly. “What exactly _are_ we supposed to do while we’re here?” Reinhardt shrugs, then picks up his plate in a massive hand.

“Genji!!!” Reinhardt roars suddenly, “Sink fast!” Without waiting for a response, Reinhardt hurls the plate at the back of Genji’s head as the cyborg ninja works on rinsing syrup from someone else’s plate. Genji doesn’t turn, but casually reaches a hand up and snatches the plate out of the air, placing it precisely in the sink alongside the others.

“I _always_ think fast.” Genji sighs, then resumes cleaning the dishes. Reinhardt chuckles, then turns back to Mei.

“Doctor Ziegler vill probably vant to give us all a checkup,” he suggests, “Besides zhat, I sink zhere’s a gym, a lounge vith a projector screen, and ve have a data link, so each room shoult have internet. I’ll probably hit ze gym zhis morning. After zhat?” He shrugs “Just savor ze downtime.”

“Sounds a little… boring.” Mei observes, eliciting another shrug from Reinhardt.

“Perhaps ve can organize a karaoke night or somesing?” He suggests hopefully. “I hope you all like Hasselhoff!”

“Uh…” Mei hedges, recoiling slightly from Reinhardt’s sudden enthusiasm. “On second thought, maybe we _should_ make the best of the downtime.” She grows solemn, and her voice is even quieter than usual when she speaks again. “Who knows when Null-Sector will attack again?”

“Zat’s ze spirit!” Reinhardt agrees without any apparent sarcasm, clapping Mei on the back with bone-crushing force.

Everyone gives Elsa a rough idea of what they plan on doing during the day, then everyone disperses, headed their separate ways to various destinations around the Watchpoint. You head out, following Elsa’s directions to a large sliding door in a corner of one of a shaded alcove toward the mountain-side of the Watchpoint. Snow appears to have collected in the corner, and only the top six inches of the door are visible above a mound of crusty snow and thick ice.

You hold a hand out toward the snow blocking the door, focusing on it and mentally exerting your ability. Rather than spectacularly flash the whole pile into steam, you work gradually, which tends to make your ability more efficient and less exhausting. Bits of steam emanate from the slowly-melting ice, and a steady flow of water leaks out at the foot of the mound. After perhaps ten minutes, the ice pile has been reduced to a pathetic pile of slush a few inches deep in front of the door. Water from the melted ice has fanned out in a rough circle, lapping against the walls of the alcove and spilling out into the courtyard beyond.

“Go ahead and try the door whenever you’re ready Elsa.” You suggest to the air, and a speaker you hadn’t noticed on the wall to the right of the door crackles to life.

“Thank you (Name), trying it now.”

The door begins to lift, revealing a tightly-packed garage with rows of boxy maintenance bots sitting on their charging docks. At the back of the low-ceilinged room, you see the tall black form of a server, its blinking lights just visible in the gloom in the rear left corner. To the right of the server, a wide workbench runs along the back wall, lit by a few overhead lights. You duck inside and make your way around the right-hand wall, skirting the bots taking up the center of the room.

The workbench is strewn with a few pieces of disassembled equipment and a few tools, all covered with a thin layer of dust. Paper memos are still pinned to the backboard above the workbench; reminders for whoever used this area when the Watchpoint was active. Opening one of the drawers on the underside of the benchtop, you find a slightly messy selection of screwdrivers. You pick one up, looking at it and trying to imagine the mechanic who’d been forced to leave this shop over five years ago when Overwatch was shut down.

The messy bench and memos give the impression that the shop’s previous occupant has just stepped away for a few minutes, but the layer of dust on everything lends the space the air of a recently-opened tomb. You shiver; this place is giving you a mild case of the heebie-jeebies. You pick your way back around the edge of the room and move to leave the maintenance garage. However, as you reach the exit, a hand reaches out suddenly from the side of the door, and the splayed fingers and palm thump solidly against your chest, halting you.

Craning your neck forward, you see Brigitte leaning casually against the wall to the left of the door, her right arm still extended to block your way. She turns to look at you, her earlier giddiness gone and replaced by a calm, almost smug air. She looks you up and down briefly, then grins slyly at you.

“So…” Brigitte begins, sounding conversational. “I hear you have some… _plans_ this evening.” She gives you an appraising sidelong glance. “With _Angela_.”

“Um… yes?” you confirm, blushing and not quite knowing why. Brigitte continues to eye you, clearly not satisfied by the answer. “Is there a problem with that?”

“That depends.” Brigitte says vaguely.

“On?” you ask, growing more nervous, but also a little frustrated. Brigitte points to your hair, then to your shirt.

“Are you planning on going on a _date_ like _that?”_ She demands, an unspoken accusation in her voice.

“Well, I was planning on getting cleaned up a bit first.” You say defensively, looking down at your very un-dateworthy sweatpants. Brigitte shakes her head in annoyance.

“Not good enough (Name).” she announces in disapproval. “I’m not sure what kind of ladies _you’re_ used to, but Angela is a _gem_. She deserves better than…” she gestures vaguely at you. “…that.”

“Thanks.” You growl. “Do you mean just the outfit, or do you mean _me_ too?”

“One reflects the other.” Brigitte says with a shrug. “I don’t know what kind of guy you are, but showing up to a date with Angela wearing sweatpants definitely doesn’t send a good message.”

“I agree, actually.” you mutter, growing a little more frustrated. “I don’t see that I have a lot of options though.”

“You might be surprised.” Brigitte responds with a sly smile. “However, whether or not I help you out depends on how you plan on treating Angela.”

“How I plan to…” you mutter, confused. “What exactly do you think I’m going to _do_ Brigitte?” she shrugs again.

“I have no idea.” She admits, holding her hands out to her sides in a _“Who knows?”_ gesture. “I just know that Angela deserves to have something good happen to her. Got any plans to actually make your date _romantic,_ Mr. Sweatpants?”

“I’ve got a few.” You retort, still feeling defensive.

“Tell me.” Brigitte demands, stepping away from the wall and leaning toward you, hands on her hips.

You tell her what you have in mind.

“…hgn.” Brigitte chokes after a long moment, seeming to be fighting some kind of internal struggle, and losing. She blushes, and despite her attempts to hold a straight face, you see the sparkly look in her eyes again. “Aww~! HMM!” She coughs unconvincingly to cover her outburst, “Well. That’s… that’s… pretty cute. I guess.”

“Glad you _approve_ …” you mutter dryly. Despite your sarcasm, Brigitte seems better-disposed toward you now; the young woman appears to have absolutely no poker-face. “What’s this really about Brigitte? You were practically throwing confetti this morning, what changed?” Brigitte opens her mouth to respond, then pauses and closes it again, considering her words.

“Angela…” She says slowly, “She really likes you (Name). I just… I don’t wanna see her get her feelings hurt.” The seriousness of Brigitte’s tone gives you pause, when you respond, you match it.

“I like her too Brigitte. I don’t plan on ever hurting her feelings, and if I do, it won’t be on purpose.” Brigitte gives you another long look, but seems to come to a decision, and returns to her more relaxed attitude from earlier, leaning back against the wall with arms folded, but with a faint smile on her face.

“In that case,” she declares, looking more than a little smug, “I’ll give you a hand making this date go well.”

“Uh, …how?” you ask suspiciously, picturing Brigitte following you and Angela all evening holding a boombox or something.

“Relax.” Brigitte grins at you, evidently understanding the discomfort on your face. “I’ll show you.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

“I asked Elsa about this place after I talked with Angela over breakfast this morning.” Brigitte explains, leading you along a catwalk three stories up the rock wall. Watchpoint Antarctica seems to have been built as a confusing labyrinth of ramps, doors, catwalks, buildings, and courtyards. Brigitte has led you on an insane trek through various disused buildings and around obstructions. Following her blindly, you’ve become somewhat lost.

Not that you don’t know where you are; you can see the window of your quarters from here, and you estimate you’re more-or-less above the maintenance bot garage. However, how you’ve _gotten_ here is another story, and you’re sure that if Brigitte decided to ditch you at this point, the fastest way back to your quarters would be to tie a rope to the catwalk’s railing and simply slide down rather than try to find your way back. Something about what Brigitte just said makes you uncomfortable.

“How… How much did Angela tell you?” You ask, thinking about how long Angela and Brigitte had conversed over breakfast. An annoyingly-shy part of you is mortified that Angela will have told Brigitte about you kissing and sleeping with Angela, even if you only “slept with her” in the literal sense. Brigitte looks over her shoulder at you as she walks; the catwalk isn’t wide enough for both of you to walk side-by-side.

“Less than I wanted to hear, but probably more than you’d think.” She answers vaguely. “Don’t worry about a little girl-talk (Name); if she hadn’t told me about the two of you, I wouldn’t have been able to help you out like this.”

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.” You respond, then mutter, “Feels like I’m being led to either a surprise birthday party or an execution.”

“Well,” Brigitte says with a laugh, walking up to a door and dusting frost off of the control panel for a moment. “Luckily, we’ve reached our first stop.” The door opens to reveal another orange room with computer equipment on the walls. It looks like the younger sibling of the room you and the rest of the group first entered yesterday, where Genji managed to get Elsa online.

“Looks a little bit like the control room.” You observe.

“Good guess.” She nods, walking over to a computer console and typing in commands. “This is where all the Overwatch personnel records for Watchpoint Antarctica are stored… and where they can be _edited_.”

“Are we… forging a personnel record?” you ask, glancing nervously at the speaker set into the room’s ceiling. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Elsa would stand for.

“Not exactly,” Brigitte dismisses the statement, sounding distracted as she continues typing in short lines of text. “This base has an automated system that assigns us access to various areas based on factors like rank or combat specialty. However, one of the base’s previous commanders set up a specific flag in the system so he’d be the only one with access to his quarters.”

“That’s a fascinating bit of trivia,” you say uncertainly, “But I don’t see what it has to do with my date with Angela tonight.”

“Oh ye of little faith!” Brigitte scolds, her voice a surprisingly good parody of Reinhardt’s over-the-top dictation. She shakes her head and backspaces a command, then re-types it. “If you stop _interrupting_ , I’ll explain. Deal?”

“Deal.” You agree grudgingly as you crane your neck to look over her shoulder, trying to decipher what she’s doing on the console.

“There’s no Overwatch regulation that prevents us from accessing that room; I’m not even sure the ‘commander’ who set up the flag in the system is even still with Overwatch, but we won’t be able to open the door until we assign someone currently on the base with the same flag.” Brigitte explains, walking over and pulling a book-sized drive from a bank on the wall to your left, then counting down a few slots and plugging it into another position.

“Once we do that,” Brigitte continues, walking back over to the console and resuming her typing. “We get access to the contents of the previous Watchpoint commander’s quarters, his personal effects, and his _clothes_.”

“Hold up a minute.” You say, raising your hands in a halting gesture and shaking your head. “Even _if_ the previous commander left anything behind, what are the odds that it would fit me?” Suddenly, you’re regretting the waste of time Brigitte has put you through.

“Actually,” Brigitte says, hitting the enter key a final time and nodding in satisfaction before turning to you with a self-satisfied smirk, “The odds are 100%. Elsa has a complete inventory of that room, and was able to compare your measurements with the previous commander’s based on video footage of you.”

“Elsa, you can be creepy sometimes, do you know that?” you address the overhead speaker.

“I suspect the previous commander would have said something similar, had he realized that the flag in the personnel server he used to exclude all personnel from his quarters also exempted it from my no-surveillance policies.” Elsa says without much self-awareness. “It’s thanks to this particular exemption that I was able to inventory the room using the monitoring equipment. There are two full dress uniforms that are within 2.36% of being a perfect fit for (Name), as well as a more complete suite of personal grooming apparatus. I believe the commander expected that Overwatch’s shut-down was going to be a much more transitory event than it has become.”

“This way.” Brigitte announces, pointing back out the door. The two of you exit the server room and round the corner to the right. Further along the wall, a single unobtrusive door is set into the rock wall. When you draw close, Brigitte gestures to the touchpad beside the door “I set you up as the ‘commander’ for the time being in case you need to come back here.” She turns to leave.

“Wait, where are you going?” you ask as she walks past you, headed back the way the two of you came.

“Medical checkup with Angela.” Brigitte explains with a shrug. “She wants to make sure we’re all in good shape while she’s got us here.”

“She didn’t say anything about it to me.” You muse, “Should I go with you?”

“Um…” Brigitte mumbles, suddenly seeming embarrassed for some reason. Her cheeks turn pink, and she doesn’t meet your eyes. “I don’t think _you_ have to worry. Gotta go, bye!” She moves off with a quick step that’s just one degree short of fleeing.

“What was _that_ about?” you wonder aloud to yourself.

“I am unsure.” Elsa responds, the unexpected reply to your rhetorical question causing you to jump slightly.

You go through the door, which opens on a dark apartment set securely into the stone of the mountain. Flipping on the lights in the main room, you see that this living space is decorated differently than the unit you share with Angela. The carpet is deeper, and is a dark grey, nearly black. There are a few pieces of furniture, including a desk and an armchair, also black. The bed is at least a full, and is covered with black sheets and a few grey pillows. You’re not sure if it’s the black décor, the lack of windows, or the recessed lights in the ceiling, but even with the lights on, these quarters are still relatively dark, albeit in a cozy sort of way.

“Elsa?” you ask, wondering whether or not Brigitte’s manipulation of the computerized personnel database removed the A.I.’s access to these quarters.

“Yes, (Name)?” Elsa responds at once.

“I’m registered as the ‘commander’ now, right?” you inquire.

“Only as far as assignment of living quarters is concerned.” Elsa answers, sounding a little uneasy. “Your rank within Overwatch and the associated privileges have not been changed.”

“Do I have a high enough access level to re-assign this room as a normal room?” You ask the A.I.

“You… do.” Elsa replies after a pause, apparently surprised. 

“Will doing that remove your surveillance of these quarters?” You press.

“Yes (Name).” Elsa confirms. “Once this space is registered as normal living quarters, the normal exemptions to my surveillance protocol will take effect.”

“Go ahead and do it then.” You instruct. Elsa doesn’t respond. Glancing around, you locate a wall panel and press your hand to it. The screen lights up, and after a few seconds of evaluation, you press a stylized “E” icon.

“Your room is now exempt from surveillance protocols.” Elsa announces, sounding pleased with herself.

“Thanks Elsa.” You reply, and then press the icon again, disconnecting the A.I. You sigh, a sense of mild relief washing through you. It’s not that A.I. surveillance is uncommon, but Elsa is chattier than most of the A.I.’s you’ve met before, and her constant spying and talkative nature have been creeping you out a little since she was first activated.

You poke around the room a bit, discovering a small closet filled with several sets of clothes, including the dress uniform Brigitte mentioned. It appears to be a dark-blue set of pressed pants, a white collared shirt with a black tie, and a dark blue jacket. There are a few additional accessories, including a gaudy-looking golden belt, a hat, and a pair of white gloves, as well as a package containing a selection of medals. However, you figure the basic outfit will be dressy enough without the full parade ornamentation.

You leave the uniform on the hanger for now, and instead wander over to the room’s bathroom. In keeping with the upgraded feel of the main room, the bathroom is larger and better decorated than the hotel-style bathroom in your previous quarters. The floor and sink are done in some kind of dark polished stone with silver fittings. Pulling back the shower curtain, you find a large bath/shower in a similar material. Very swanky.

You open the drawers under the sink, and find a tidy selection of grooming implements, including a toothbrush, razor, comb, hair brush, nose hair trimmer, fingernail clippers, etc. The drawer on the opposite side contains shaving cream, toothpaste, mouthwash, aftershave, hair mousse, and the like. Evidently, the Watchpoint’s former commander took his appearance very seriously.

You take advantage of the fact that you have nothing better to do for the moment, and clean yourself up. You take a shower, shave, clean your teeth, trim your fingernails, comb your hair, and generally do everything you can think of to make yourself presentable. Checking the clock on the wall in the main room, you discover that it’s high time for lunch. You briefly eye the uniform, but decide to put the sweats back on for now; no sense in getting it dirty ahead of time… not to mention, the dress uniform might result in some questions from the others.

It takes you some time to find your way back to the part of the Watchpoint with which you’re familiar, but you eventually locate the dining hall and walk in. Brigitte and Lena are sitting at one of the tables, and when they see you Brigitte rolls her eyes and groans and Lena giggles. You look behind you, but don’t see anything that would explain their reactions.

“What?” you ask, flushing with embarrassment at their expressions.

“Your hair, Luv,” Lena says, pointing and giggling. You glance upward as if to look at it. You’d combed it into a neat style which you thought looked nice and tidy.

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask, reaching up and feeling at your head to see if your hair has become mussed or something.

“I called it.” Brigitte says, looking to Lena with a _“You see what I have to work with?”_ expression.

“At least there’s time to fix it!” Lena says encouragingly, looking back in your direction.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with my hair?” you ask more insistently as Lena stands up and zips over in front of you.

“How best to describe it…” Lena wonders aloud.

“You look like a ten-year-old boy going to church.” Brigitte informs you bluntly. You look to Lena for confirmation, and she winces a little and shrugs, which you take for agreement.

“It’s a little formal Luv,” Lena says, reaching up for your hair and gesturing for you to sit down when she realizes that she can’t see properly from her angle. “Sit down, we’ll set it right in a jiffy!” You oblige, and Lena runs her fingers through your hair, tilting her head in an evaluating expression. Then she simply runs her fingers through your hair a few more times, mussing up the carefully-combed hair. After a minute or two, she takes a step back, holding her thumbs and forefingers in a rectangle framing your face.

“Much better.” Brigitte says, and nods approvingly.

You pull out your phone, which has been shut down since the flight (no cell towers here in Antarctica, go figure). Examining yourself in the reflection, you discover that your hair looks… disheveled. At least to you. It’s subtly messed-up rather than looking like you’ve been subjected to strong winds or something, but there are still random bits of hair sticking up where previously everything was combed flat.

“I don’t get it.” You say, looking to Lena, “This is better? It looks messy to me.”

“It looks more natural.” Brigitte explains. “It’s good that you paid attention to styling it, but you’re going on a date, not to a funeral.”

“Maybe I can ask Angela about it when she gets lunch,” you muse aloud, flipping a strand of hair with a finger as you continue to examine your reflection.

“She’s already been and gone Luv.” Lena informs you, blinking back over to her seat. “Maybe you can bring it up when she does your checkup. Have you been?” Brigitte coughs, and gestures Lena over, then whispers something in Lena’s ear. Lena’s eyes go wide, and she turns to Brigitte in surprise. “ _Angela_ said that?”

“Said what?” You ask, your curiosity growing. Both women look at you for a moment, then blush. After a moment, Lena speaks.

“It… it wouldn’t do for us to repeat it Luv.” She says awkwardly, “You probably don’t need to worry about getting a checkup though.”

“What does that mean?” you say with exasperation. “Should I be worried? Why would Angela want to give everyone else a checkup except me?” Lena and Brigitte look at each other, then seem to take great interest in the table, both women blushing more deeply. 

“She…” Brigitte begins, then cuts off, evidently too embarrassed to continue.

“She said she’d… um…. Take care of it later.” Lena says, squirming in her chair and not meeting your eyes.

“…oh.” You say in surprise, then look at the two women who are still avoiding meeting your eyes. “Why was that so hard to tell me?” Brigitte and Lena look at each other again, then smile. Brigitte actually chokes back a laugh. Neither of them volunteer any further information. “Fine, whatever.” you mutter in resignation. “Do either of you know whether Angela likes tea or coffee?”

“Coffee.” Brigitte says after a pause. “With lots of cream and sugar.”

“Stupid, uncultured…” Lena mutters under her breath.

You walk around the counter and busy yourself making a fresh pot of coffee, wishing you had something more refined than the reliable old workhorse of a coffee pot mounted on the countertop. You filch a few items from the fridge and munch on them for lunch while you wait for the coffee to brew, then pour a fair bit of it into an insulated thermos you found in one of the cabinets, add and stir in the cream and sugar, closing the top to keep it hot.

“You’re not as clueless as you look, Luv.” Lena murmurs approvingly as you walk past and head out the door.

After getting directions from Elsa, you pick your way between the Watchpoint’s buildings and eventually arrive at a door with the words “Medical Facility” printed above it. You open the door and find an empty waiting room consisting of a few chairs against a wall, and a small desk against the opposite wall. For some reason, regardless of the fact that this is an Overwatch facility in Antarctica, you’re surprised by absence of the stereotypical stack of magazines. At the back of the room, you see a door open and a light on.

“Angela?” you call toward the door.

“In here,” Angela calls from somewhere further inside. “You have excellent timing (Name), come back here.” You walk around the desk and through the door, finding Angela kneeling on a countertop and straining to reach a box on top of some cabinets in one corner of a small storage room. When she sees you, she hops off the counter, dusting off her knees. “Can you reach that box? I can almost grab it, but it’s stuck on the corner…” she trails off, noticing the thermos in your hand, then smiles up at you expectantly. “Did you bring me coffee?”

“I did.” You smile back, “I figured maybe it would help keep you warm.”

“I thought that was _your_ job~.” Angela teases fondly, accepting the thermos. She pours some coffee into the cap and takes a sip, then closes her eyes in appreciation.

“I’ll have to outsource that particular duty while you’re seeing patients.” You respond with a joking smile. “I doubt they’d appreciate me standing nearby all day in case you get cold.” You climb onto the counter, then grab the sides of the box and tug it free from where it was wedged between the top of the cabinets and the ceiling. Something inside rattles as you climb down. “What’s in this anyway?”

“The coffee maker.” Angela says with a sheepish grin, taking another sip from the cap on the thermos. “You really _do_ have perfect timing. Mmmm, good taste too.”

“Glad I could help.” You chuckle. “I can’t take credit for my taste though; I asked Brigitte how you took your coffee.”

“Did she tell you I like my coffee like I like my men?” Angela asks, looking over her coffee at you with a sly grin.

“Uh… not exactly… she…” you stammer.

“Sweet~.” Angela murmurs, sidling up next to you and leaning her head on your shoulder, causing you to blush, but also to smile. You put an arm around Angela’s shoulder, resting your head against hers for a moment. However, before you can do anything further, the front door to the medical facility bangs open.

“Angela!” Reinhardt’s voice booms from the front room. “Are you in here somewhere?” Angela rolls her eyes and groans a little under her breath, giving you an apologetic look.

“In here Reinhardt!” she calls, then turns to you. “The big oaf probably hurt himself in the gym,” she murmurs, releasing you and opening a cabinet to pull out some medical supplies. Reinhardt walks in holding his shoulder. He pauses for a moment when he sees you, but Angela waves him in.

“I’m not… interrupting, am I?” Reinhardt asks sounding a little awkward. “I sink I sprained my shoulder in ze gym…”

“I told you not to overdo it Reinhardt…Sit down on the table,” Angela gestures for him to make himself comfortable. “Give me a minute to finish up with (Name), and I’ll see what I can do for you.” The two of you walk back out into the front room, the waiting area affording you a small measure of privacy.

“I guess I should probably head out,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Angela agrees, “You probably should. It’ll take me a bit to get Reinhardt fixed up, and I still have to track down Genji for his checkup.”

“That reminds me,” you say slowly. “I asked Brigitte when I should come see you for my checkup, and she told me I didn’t need to worry.”

“Did she say why?” Angela asks, blushing for some reason.

“Uh… no, she wouldn’t tell me.” You respond, eyeing Angela, who smiles to herself. She stands up on her tiptoes and kisses you briefly, and when she pulls back, her eyes are sparkling with amusement. She opens the door for you to leave, and you move to go, but she leans in conspiratorially as you walk out.

“Don’t worry about your checkup (Name),” Angela murmurs quietly, her voice sultry as she meets your eyes, “I plan on _thoroughly_ examining you later.” She winks, then in a louder voice says “Thanks for the coffee! See you at seven!”, then closes the door behind you, leaving you blushing in the cold air. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

You spend the rest of the day setting up a few things for your date with Angela, then you grab a quick snack at the dining hall before heading back to your room to get ready. It takes you almost half an hour to find your way back to the room, but you eventually locate the right catwalk and head through the unassuming door at the end of it, making a mental note to leave plenty of time to get back. You wash your face and pick at your hair in the mirror, turning one way then another and trying to see what Lena and Brigitte see in the style; it still looks messy to you but you take their word that it looks better.

You get dressed, putting on the formal clothes and finding yourself surprised at how well they seem to fit. Examining yourself in the mirror, you try to imagine what Angela will think about the look; your mussed-up hair seems to contrast with the military dress uniform and tie, but you decide that it’s much better than sweatpants or a burned T-shirt. You think back to her comment as you were leaving the medical facility and blush again, seeing your cheeks redden in the reflection in the mirror.

Remembering the flirty comment does nothing to slow your heartbeat, which has been traitorously racing for the past half hour or so; you’re as nervous as when you were going on your first date in high school. _Don’t be silly, Angela obviously likes you._ The thought helps a little bit, but you also find yourself agreeing with Brigitte; Angela seems like a gem of a woman, and she deserves the best… and you’re not sure if you’re it or not.

 _Stop it!!!_ You demand of yourself, _Stop thinking like that!!! You’re a grown man, going on a date is no big deal; why are you acting like you’re fourteen!?_

Your mental orders to calm down your nervous tension have little effect, but you catch sight of the clock and realize that you need to leave now if you’re going to meet Angela on time. You don’t have enough concentration to give yourself any kind of mental pep talk as you make your way back through buildings and across catwalks to the central area of the Watchpoint, trying to remember the route you took earlier. Luckily you arrive with a minute or two to spare. The door panel that leads up to the living quarters doesn’t have a doorbell that you can see, so you simply lean against the wall outside the door to wait.

The afternoon sunlight is just beginning to take on the orangey quality of a sunset, and it sparkles off flakes of ice still piled here and there in the corners between buildings. The wind seems to have died down somewhat, and still air seems almost surreally quiet after the near constant gusting you’ve experienced since you first arrived in Antarctica. You give an almost imperceptible nod, as if to thank the weather for cooperating with you, albeit only slightly. The temperature is still below freezing, but that won’t be a problem for the two of you; you extend a bubble of warmth around you for a few yards, heating the air, and the cool metal of the wall against your back. You’re distracting yourself by using your ability to melt small icicles hanging from the building across the walkway, and so you don’t notice the door opening until Angela speaks.

“I could feel you when I was coming down the stairs.” Angela announces from the doorway. It takes you an instant to realize she’s referring to your ability; you must have warmed the inside of the building somewhat while you leaned against it. You turn to reply, but your brain fumbles, then drops the words as you see Angela. Your breath catches in your throat, and suddenly your own clothing doesn’t seem as overly-formal as you’d previously thought.

She’s wearing an off-the shoulder black dress, the dark fabric emphasizing her fair skin. The dress is form-fitting through the waist and hips, and has a tie at one side that leaves it relatively loose across the bust, an elegant dip in the neckline revealing a bit of cleavage. Accessorizing the dress are a pair of small black cuffs at her wrists, a black choker, and a loosely-tied black ribbon holding her blonde hair in her customary ponytail. A pair of small blue gemstones sparkle in her ears from the afternoon sunlight, which lights up her face as she smiles.

 _Ohhhhhh, I’m in trouble._ You think with a distracted and terrified sort of delight, swaying a little on your feet despite the lack of wind as you suddenly feel weak in the knees. You have to work to keep your mouth from hanging open. _I was *not* ready for that dress. Breathe (Name), in and out, just like you were doing a second ago…_

“Angela…” you exhale, the word almost a gasp. You clear your throat. “Ah-Hmmm… Um… You look …spectacular _._ ”

“Thanks!” she says with a smile and a hint of teasing in her voice that makes clear that she hasn’t failed to notice your reaction, but that she also doesn’t mind it. “You don’t look half bad yourself. Where did you manage to find that uniform?”

“Uh,” you say, still trying to kick your brain into gear and having only minimal success. “Brigitte and Elsa managed to get me into the Watchpoint commander’s quarters. I guess he was my size… what about _you?_ Where did that dress come from?”

“Left over from the last time I was stationed here.” Angela says, grinning at you and taking your arm. “Shall we?”

“This way.” You say with a gesture pointing further into the Watchpoint. “You’re not cold, are you?”

“Not at all.” Angela responds, leaning against you as you walk. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” You answer with intentional vagueness, giving Angela a grin. She returns your smile with a raised eyebrow, but seems content to see what you’ve got planned. 

The two of you stroll slowly around the corner to the left, walking along a wide path that runs through the base. After a brief shady section in between two buildings, you come out into an open courtyard with a railing along one side. The railing abuts a steep drop-off, and gives a view of the frozen landscape in the distance. You’ve set up a table and a pair of chairs in the center of the section of railing. The café-style setup would be preposterously-impractical without your ability making the frigid air as balmy and comfortable as a summer afternoon. The scent of Angela’s perfume adds to the impression that it can’t possibly be cold; the vanilla-flower scent makes the snow and ice in the distance seem even more like some kind of illusion.

You reach the table, and pull out a chair for Angela, heating it to roughly body-temperature as you do so. Angela sits, looking at the items on the table curiously. A handful of cylinders of ice, each about as big around as your forearm and eight inches long. They sit upright in a rough circle around an empty vase, each chunk resting on top of a paper towel. The cooler underneath the table goes apparently unnoticed as you seat yourself across from her, heating the table in order to make the setting as comfortable as possible.

“What are these?” Angela asks, prodding one of the icy objects with a finger.

In response, you pick up one of the cylinders, your supernaturally-heated fingers plunging into the ice at the base of the cylinder and wetting the paper towel with the melted water. You hold your fingers as if grasping a thin object like an upward-pointed pencil inside the ice, and extend your arm out over the edge of the railing, glad for the lack of wind; when you tried this earlier, the wind sprayed the water everywhere. _Just like I practiced…_

You focus on the ice in your hand, closing your eyes and visualizing the result you want. With the image fixed in your mind, you exert a quick burst of power into the ice. The surface goes clear for an instant, revealing the glass-like transparency of the ice block you prepared with Mei’s help earlier. Then most of the cylinder becomes liquid, dropping away over the edge of the railing in a single splash to reveal an intricately-formed lily made from the remaining ice.

“For you.” You say, wrapping the stem of the flower in a paper towel to keep it from freezing her fingers. The ice flower sparkles in the afternoon sunlight as if carved from diamonds. Angela takes it with a look of wonder.

“(Name)…” she breathes, looking at the shimmering ice, “It’s magnificent…” She glances back to you, eyes a little wide.

“It’s nothing compared to your eyes.” You murmur, staring into them as her blue irises catch the light, seeming almost metallic. The subtle shine is so captivating you don’t realize you’ve spoken the thought out loud until Angela looks down, smiling and glancing back up at you bashfully. You shake your head, coming back to your senses a bit. Then you pick up another ice chunk, letting the cold sink into your fingers and bring you even further back to reality before continuing. “I wanted there to be flowers, but for _some_ reason, I couldn’t find any around the Watchpoint, so I had to improvise.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Elsa has gotten the florist’s shop back up and running yet.” Angela says absently, the sarcasm in her words muted as she stares at the sparkling ice. “Did you know that lilies are my favorite flower?”

“I didn’t _know_ , but I took a guess based on your perfume.” You explain, forming another lily and placing it in the vase. You quickly repeat the process with the other ice blocks, making each ice lily slightly different and arranging them into a crystalline bouquet in the vase, the flowers refracting the light into tiny rainbows on the surface of the table.

“Good guess.” Angela says, a little smile tugging at one corner of her mouth, “Especially since my perfume doesn’t have lilies in it.” 

“It doesn’t?” you ask, pausing. Angela shakes her head.

“Vanilla and peach blossoms, I think.” She explains, eyes twinkling.

“For some reason, I pictured lilies…” you muse, cocking your head to the side slightly in confusion.

“You’d better smell again then.” Angela suggests with a slow smile, rising out of her seat and leaning across the table toward you. She turns her head, and points at her bared neck. You lean across the table and inhale, a small part of you savoring how good Angela smells. Before you can sit back down, she takes advantage of your face being so close to lean in and kiss you on the cheek before sitting back down and smiling to herself in satisfaction. You pause for a moment, eyes growing wide. Angela laughs when she sees your expression, and something in her smile tips you off that you’ve been set up.

“Your perfume… It _is_ lily-scented, isn’t it?” You accuse with a smile. Angela’s eyes twinkle, and she doesn’t deny it. “You just wanted to kiss me when I leaned in, didn’t you?”

“…Maybe.” Angela allows loftily, shrugging her shoulders in a “ _We may never know.”_ gesture. You reach up absently to feel your cheek where she kissed you, and Angela smiles. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Um, no. I don’t mind at all.” you murmur, off-balance from being teased so openly. “I _am_ glad I got the flower right though.” Angela leans to the side and glances at the cooler underneath the table.

“What’s in there?” she asks, looking back up at you expectantly.

“Oh! I almost forgot…” you reply, picking up the cooler and setting it onto the table, “I brought dessert.” You pull out two plates, each containing a slice of chocolate cake, two mugs, and a thermos.

“Mmmm, looks good!” Angela says with excitement. As you pour her a cup of coffee and pass it over. “I’m surprised you managed to get it past Brigitte.”

“What do you think happened to the _rest_ of the cake.” You mutter flatly. “I’m lucky to have gotten away with _this_ ; I thought Brigitte was going to _bite_ me.”

“And would you like that?” Angela asks conversationally. The question takes you completely by surprise, and you cough midway through a sip of your coffee.

“Uh… what?” you ask in confusion “Would I like to get bitten by Brigitte?”

“There are worse things than having part of your body in the mouth of a pretty woman.” Angela muses with a shrug. Her face is neutral, but there’s a slight mischievous twinkle in her eyes You stare at her in surprise for a second, your cheeks going bright red.

 _When she flirts, she doesn’t mess around._ You think as you see a hint of a sly smile tug at one corner of Angela’s mouth.

“Uh… that only sounds fun if I get the body part _back.”_ You respond after a moment, “Have you seen how Brigitte eats? I think I’d prefer someone who …took their time a little more.” You eye Angela meaningfully as she raises a fork to her mouth in a dainty bite. She pauses, then laughs.

“Touché.” She admits, giggling at your response. She favors you with a fond expression and adds, “I’ll keep that in mind~.”

The two of you chat for some time, the sun setting largely unnoticed in the background; you’re both more focused on each other than on the sunset or the weather. Angela tells you a few stories about herself and a few of the other Overwatch heroes, and you nearly fall off your chair laughing at a story in which Reinhardt had to be resurrected after accidentally knocking himself unconscious charging into a steel I-beam. You tell a few stories of your own, and Angela occasionally interjects when she sees an opportunity to flirt. You flirt back, not quite able to match Angela’s double-entendres, but not letting them knock you completely off-balance either.

You don’t realize how late it’s gotten until the sun sets completely, stars becoming visible one-by-one in the distance. You’d feel like you should be tired, but between the coffee and the excitement of talking with Angela, you’re still energized. You silently curse the retreating daylight, wishing the evening could last longer. However, as the purple color fades from the edge of the sky, it becomes clear that you and Angela will have to call it a night; you’ll have trouble seeing well enough to find your way back before long. You wince as you imagine one or both of you slipping on a patch of ice in the dark.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” you announce regretfully, “We should probably call it a night Angela.”

“You’re probably right.” She agrees. For some reason, _she_ sounds almost enthusiastic about the prospect.

 _I don’t feel like she’s been having a *bad* time…_ you think, puzzled by Angela’s apparent eagerness to leave. _Maybe she’s tired? Looking forward to getting some sleep? She probably had a long day I guess…_

“I’ll walk you back to your room?” you offer, standing and offering her a hand, and Angela pauses.

“Don’t you mean _our_ room?” she asks, her voice sounding a little off to you; like she’s suddenly apprehensive somehow. 

“Well, I…” you stammer, “I have my own room now, and I figured you’d want your privacy and…” You stop as Angela stands and hugs your chest, arms around your waist. When she pulls away again, she shakes her head, looking bemused.

“Didn’t I say I wanted you to keep me warm?” She asks, the twinkle in her eyes somehow more visible in the fading light.

“Well, yeah…” you agree, rubbing the back of your neck as you remember spending the previous night with Angela snuggled against you. You waver for a moment, caught between your own sense of propriety, and an almost-overpowering desire to feel Angela curled up against you again.

“Maybe you should invite me back to _your_ room?” Angela suggests softly, hooking her arm through yours and looking at you hopefully.

“Okay… do you want to come back to my room with me Angela?” you ask, gesturing invitationally toward a ramp across the courtyard. 

“I’d be delighted.” She says, accepting the invitation with a smile and sounding pleased.

You and Angela make your way leisurely through the maze of ramps and catwalks; Watchpoint Antarctica’s confusing layout is even more tricky to navigate in near-dark. Luckily, there are lights on some of the buildings and they provide enough illumination for the two of you to see. You’ve been back and forth often enough today to remember the way back this time and you arrive at the door to your new quarters after just a few minutes. The two of you walk inside and Angela releases your arm as you close the door, wandering around the room for a minute before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Mmm~, satin.” She murmurs, rubbing at the sheets appreciatively, then smirking at you with an arched eyebrow. “Quite the room you’ve got here. I can’t believe you were going to let me sleep _alone_ in that other apartment.”

“I didn’t want to make any assumptions.” You protest weakly, running your hand through your hair with embarrassment. Angela’s grin widens, as if you’ve said something funny, although you’re not sure what it could be. After a moment, she shrugs it off, and nods at your clothing.

“You’re not going to sleep in that outfit, are you?” She asks, eyeing you up and down.

“Probably not the most comfortable sleepwear,” you agree, glancing down at the uniform and lifting the tie with a finger, “I guess I’ll go change in the bathroom…” you pause as you realize something, then nod at her black dress. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’ll figure something out,” Angela says mysteriously, grinning again although you’re still not sure why, “Go ahead.”

You pause long enough to raise the room’s temperature to a more comfortable level with your ability, then grab a pair of sweats and head into the bathroom. You close the door behind yourself, and catch yourself smiling as you fumble your way out of the formal clothing. Today has been one of the best days you’ve had in a long time. You take a minute to brush your teeth and wash your face before putting on the now-familiar Overwatch casual clothing. You exert your ability a bit, steaming yourself dry in an instant, then stop, standing in front of the closed door.

“Angela?” you ask through the door, loudly enough for her to hear you out in the other room. “Are you finished changing?”

“Ya!” she answers, the word sounding like ‘ _yah’_ with her accent. “Get out here! Don’t leave me waiting~!” she adds, her voice even more openly flirty than it has been so far.

You open the door, looking forward to cuddling with Angela again tonight, and your heart beats faster at the thought of holding her in your arms. However, those thoughts are interrupted as soon as the door opens. You hear a brief fluttering sound before your vision is obscured by something soft and black, which hits you in the face, wraps around your head, and drapes down one shoulder. You reach up and pull the object free, holding it out and inspecting it for a moment before realizing what it is. 

It’s Angela’s dress.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Looking up, you see that Angela has wrapped herself up in the black satin comforter. The shiny fabric covers Angela where she holds it to her chest and curls down around her body, running over her curves then dropping between her legs which are both exposed. Her ankles are crossed together on top of the comforter near the foot of the bed, one leg protruding out at the shin. The other leg is completely bare… and it isn’t the only thing. 

You can see the smooth skin of Angela’s entire right side from her feet all the way up to her shoulder and down the arm that holds the comforter over her breasts. You realize with a start that she’s not wearing any underwear; you can see that the side of her right breast and her hips are free from any fabric besides the blanket. Glancing toward the dark grey carpet next to the bed, you spot a discarded pair of lacey black panties and a matching bra. You meet her eyes, and she gives you a sultry “ _Like what you see?”_ look.

“I…” you stammer as your face flushes red-hot and you blink in surprise, your mind locking up for a few moments, “…I feel a little overdressed.” You manage to choke out, and Angela lets out a breathy chuckle.

“This bed is a no-clothes zone.” she declares, eying you with a hungry stare. “You can’t come in like that~.” 

_Is this really happening?_ You think disconnectedly. You feel like you’re controlling your limbs from a great distance; your body seems slightly numb except for a keen awareness of the blush that’s spread from your cheeks up to your forehead and down to your neck like a fire. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, although your hand does tremble a bit with nervousness and anticipation. Angela giggles at what must be an amusing expression on your face as you choke on a few thoughts in the back of your throat, not quite able to voice any of them.

“(Name),” she says in a low voice, smoldering stare pinning you in place, “Are you going to take off your clothes… or are you going to make me come over and tear them off of you?”

“I can’t decide,” you murmur almost to yourself; you hadn’t intended to speak the thought out loud, but Angela has you off-balance in a big way and your mouth is on auto-pilot. “both options sound kind of good actually.” Angela puts a finger in her mouth, biting on it lightly for a moment as she regards you.

“Well, _I’m_ not waiting any longer,” She announces, and throws back the covers.

Angela swings her legs out of bed and stands up, her suddenly-exposed breasts bouncing slightly with the movement. The dress and even her white armor hadn’t left you with any doubts about Angela’s figure, but seeing her bare and walking toward you across the carpet with lust in her eyes like this is something else entirely. You rock slightly on your feet as you drink in the curves of her body with your eyes. She takes your hand and pulls you over to stand by the foot of the bed, glancing down at the front of your pants and grinning; you’ve grown incredibly hard at the sight of her and the loose clothing doesn’t do much to conceal your arousal.

She pulls your shirt over your head, and you raise your arms then lean down to kiss her once the garment is free, wrapping an arm around her bare waist and pulling her against you. You feel the delicious pressure of her naked breasts against your chest as your lips meet hers. She rests a hand against the front of your pants and squeezes lightly, moaning into the kiss. Your brow furrows, and you grunt under your breath with satisfaction before Angela pulls away. You sway for a moment, eyes still closed, savoring the lingering feeling of Angela’s lips against yours. When you reopen your eyes, she’s smirking at you, although she seems pleased by your reaction. She reaches down and hooks a thumb into the top of your pants intending to pull them down. However, you grasp her arm before she can continue.

“Angela,” you murmur, gently pulling the hand free from your waistband and holding it in yours, breathing shallowly. “Remember how I said I’m not used to this?” Angela leans in and kisses your neck.

“It’s okay if it’s been a while,” she breathes into your ear, sounding impatient edging on urgent. “We’ll go slow, just relax, and-”

“It’s my first time.” You blurt out. Angela pauses, then leans back to look at you. You tense, expecting judgement or discomfort in her stare. Some of the near-feverish sensuality _has_ gone from her expression, and her eyes are a little wide as she looks up at you with her mouth open slightly in surprise. However, she doesn’t release you or pull away. Instead, she clings to you a little more tightly. Her reaction seems surprised… but if you’re reading her right, not exactly _displeased_. 

“You’ve… you’ve never…?” she asks, peering at you and leaving the question unspoken. You shake your head.

“It’s not like I _object_ or anything,” you clarify, reaching up and caressing the side of her face. “I’ve just never… I mean…” you grit your teeth against the awkwardness of the admission. “I didn’t think I was ready when I was younger, and after I got my ability… none of my relationships lasted long enough for it to happen.”

Angela regards you for a moment, still looking a little surprised. Then she slowly, tentatively places a kiss on your lips. She moves in as if asking your permission; her eyes remain locked on yours until the last moment. She kisses you lightly, a quick almost furtive quality to it. When she pulls back, she’s blushing more deeply, but some of the hunger has returned to her expression.

“Can I… Can I be your first?” she asks, her voice almost timid as she adds “…please?”

“I… I’d like that.” you say, exhaling slightly with relief and holding her against you.

Angela smiles up at you, the expression more kind than lustful, and suddenly you _need_ to kiss her. You reach up with your left hand and brush aside the long bangs on that side of her face before pulling her gently to you. She wraps her arms around you and stands up a little taller to meet you halfway, eager for your affection. Your kiss lingers, lips together for a long moment, and you feel her press in and mold her body against yours as her desire regains the upper hand once more. When you break the kiss and open your eyes, you can clearly see that a good measure of her passion has returned. Angela bites one corner of her lower lip as she slowly opens her eyes.

“Do you… um…” she murmurs. Angela’s eyes are still half-closed, and she seems distracted by the kiss. “Do you know what to do?”

“I’m not experienced,” you grin shyly down at her, “…but I’m not _ignorant_ either. Just… let me know if I’m… uh… doing something wrong?”

“Okay~.” She exhales, her rapid shallow breaths doing intriguing things to her bare chest.

Angela takes a step back, releasing you and walking over to the nightstand. She opens it and rummages around for a moment, then pulls out a small bottle full of clear fluid; lube apparently. You arch your eyebrow at the presence of sexual lubricant on an Overwatch Watchpoint, and Angela regards it with a bemused expression, then turns to you and shrugs. Her expression seems to say “ _Lucky for *us*, right?”_ She crawls onto the bed, then turns to face you. 

Angela lays down on her back, propping herself into a reclined sitting posture with her elbows behind her and her legs crossed. She glances back down at your pants with an arched eyebrow, then looks up at you as if to say “ _Do I have to do *everything* myself?”_ You reach down and slowly pull your pants free, your cock swinging up out of the waistband as you do. Angela gasps when she sees it, eyes going wide and sparkling with delight.

“You’re telling me…” she purrs, her tone sarcastically-reproachful, “…That you’ve been keeping _that_ all to yourself!?” She brings one hand to her mouth, biting down on her index finger as she looks at you. After a moment of consideration, she opens the bottle of lube and squeezes a little onto her fingers. Then she sets the bottle aside and her hand drops between her thighs and she begins to rub herself, sighing softly.

“Um… yes?” you answer distractedly; not able to take your eyes off of the delicious scene Angela is making as she pleasures herself. She meets your eyes boldly for a moment, then looks down a little self-consciously, but doesn’t stop. Starting without you this way seems like a bold move for Angela, even after what has been an evening of bold moves on her part. She blushes as she continues.

“I…” she stammers in a quiet voice, glancing back to you, then down at your cock again, seeming flustered and having trouble meeting your eyes suddenly. “I’ll have to… get myself ready for... it’s that… you’re…um… you’re bigger than I thought you’d be.”

“You don’t have to get yourself ready.” You murmur with a smile, crawling onto the bed and laying down beside Angela. She watches you, still rubbing herself as you lean in close to her

“(Name), foreplay is important.” She reproves you gently, glancing down at your cock. “Especially for someone like… I mean, I can’t just take all of tha-haaAA~!” she cuts off with a moan as you reach over and place your hand on the one she’s using to pleasure herself, your fingers brushing past hers and teasing the sensitive spot at the top of her lips. It’s apparently quite a bit more intense when it’s _your_ fingers touching her; She glances back at you with surprise, the expression melting to enjoyment as you trace your index finger slowly along the length of her slit.

“What I _meant_ …” you amend, leaning in and whispering the words into her ear. You stop over her clit and rub it with the lightest possible pressure for a moment, Angela’s wetness causing your finger to glide easily over the subtle firmness there.

“Ahhhnnnn~” Angela moans, mouth dropping open slightly as you stroke her. Her eyes go wide, then drop half-closed, and she appears to have completely forgotten what she was saying. 

“…is that you don’t have to get _yourself_ ready.” You emphasize, finishing your thought and grinning at Angela’s reactions. “I’ll help.” 

“…oh.” Angela gasps quietly, clutching a fist to her chest and breathing heavily with excitement.

You sit up and scooch yourself with your back against the headboard of the bed, the satin sheets allowing you to slide easily. You gesture for Angela to come over, and she cozies up against you, sitting in between your legs with her back against your left shoulder. You wrap your left arm around her and pull her close, feeling your cock brush against her lower back. You ignore your own arousal for the moment, focusing on pleasing Angela first. You reach your right hand down over her stomach, but pause with your palm resting just below her navel.

“Don’t _stop~.”_ She groans, spreading her legs wide and looking over her shoulder at you, her expression needy. “It’s okay, keep going.”

You trace your middle finger lightly down past her lips, starting at the bottom of her pussy, then working back up. You dwell for a moment on her clit, then lift your fingers free and reach down to start again, each touch extremely light. Angela groans, arching her back against you and leaning over to kiss your neck, her hands reaching up to cup her breasts.

You press in a little more firmly, feeling Angela’s lips spread just a bit around the tip of your finger. You take advantage of her wetness, using it once again to lubricate your digits as you focus on her clit, tracing circles around it and drawing out another moan. After a few minutes you decide to go further. You wet your fingers from Angela’s entrance, then bend your wrist and slide your middle finger into her.

“Mmmmm~.” She sighs appreciatively, and you feel her pussy contract, squeezing your finger and startling you slightly; you hadn’t expected what that would feel like. You pull your finger back, then press it in again, deeper this time, bringing your palm against her clit and curving your finger slightly, feeling the inside of Angela’s pussy as it squeezes you again. “Use… _two_ ~.” Angela breathes. You slowly insert your index and middle fingers together, hesitantly at first, but continuing once it becomes clear that Angela is enjoying the experience. Before long, she begins to squirm against you, and groan in pleasure.

You gradually go faster, surprised at how warm Angela is inside. The almost startlingly hot sensation feels strange to you, but not unpleasant. You experiment a little with hooking your fingers slightly and varying your motions, using Angela’s moans to gauge which strokes she enjoys and which places are more pleasurable. After a few false starts you find a sensitive spot and Angela arches her back against you again, squeezing tightly inside and breathing in ragged gasps.

“Huhhhnnnn~… right there~.” She whimpers. You repeat the motion, pressing a bit more inside her, and her breathing grows even faster, her chest rising up and down dramatically. She cranes her neck to gaze at you, tongue hanging loose just inside her lip and obscuring her lower teeth. Her eyes take a second to focus, and her expression leaves you with no doubt that she’s enjoying your attentions. You continue to rub inside her, simultaneously brushing her clit with the side of your thumb. After a little while longer, her eyes suddenly go wide. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum…” she breathes, then grips the sheets in one fist, the other going to her temple and brushing into her hair as she cries out. “Aaaahhhhhhh~! Yesss~!”

Her pussy squeezes your fingers, the slower contractions giving way to a burst of short fast ones that last for a few moments. She reaches down, putting a hand on yours and gently pulling you out of her then holds your hand against her right breast, her chest heaving as she gasps for breath. After a few moments, she gets control of herself and turns to you with a half-smile on her lips, looking up at you with an arched eyebrow through a few locks of displaced hair that have fallen down across her forehead.

“You’re… you’re pretty good at that.” She admits unsteadily, scooching up and turning her upper body to cuddle against you, shaking slightly. “Are you _sure_ you’re a virgin?”

“Uh… yeah, I’m pretty sure.” You reply with a smirk.

“Let’s fix that.” Angela purrs back in a low voice, her eyes flashing in anticipation.

She leans forward and away from you, then scooches down the bed a few feet before turning around toward you. She lays on her back and puts both her arms behind her head, the posture arching her back and pushing her breasts out more prominently. Then she spreads her legs for you, one resting on the covers, the other pointing upward at an angle, the shin and foot pointed toward you. The posture causes your heart to thunder in your chest; somehow seeing her so close and… _presented_ like this is doing things to you. On some subconscious level, you’d been expecting to _wake up_ before now.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” You ask, moving over against her, sitting up on your knees. She hooks her legs around your hips and crosses her ankles behind your back, pulling on you insistently.

“Yeah ~…” she confirms in a whimper, looking at you imploringly and reaching down and spreading her lips apart with two fingers. You pull back to get some room, grasp the base of your cock, and draw yourself up and down along her entrance a few times, wetting yourself.

Angela whimpers again at the teasing pressure of your cock against her, reaching up to fondle one of her breasts with the hand that she isn’t using to spread herself. You push in slowly with your hips and her pussy engulfs you, the heat of her even more surprising than when you felt it with your fingers. You intend to push in just a little bit, making sure you don’t go too fast too soon. However, Angela has other ideas.

“More~.” She whines, then pulls hard against your hips with her legs, forcing the two of you together and plunging your cock the rest of the way into her. “Aaahhhnnnn~!” she moans, eyes going wide as she takes your full length. She squeezes you inside, contracting around you as she cries out, her moan turning into a faint laugh. “It’s so _good~!”_

“You’re… you’re so warm inside…” you breathe. The sensation of her washes through you, making your cock twitch with the intensity of it. The nape of your neck prickles with the pleasure, and you feel almost light-headed. “I can’t believe how you can squeeze~.” You gasp as Angela’s pussy pulses around you and you meet her eyes, your own wide with amazement. Although it now seems stupid to you, you hadn’t imagined making love to a woman to feel so different from using your hand. The sensation is so much more… complete.

“How does it feel to not be a virgin any more~?” Angela inquires in a flirty voice, her eyes twinkling in amusement at your inexperienced wonder. Your response is a low exhalation that stops just short of being an actual growl. You plant your hands beside Angela’s shoulders and lean down to kiss her, causing her to whimper and undulate her hips against you. “Come on~!” she begs with a smile, looking down at where you’re entering her, then back up to your eyes, “Show me what you can do~!”

You pull your hips back, then thrust into Angela again, slowly, the motion a little awkward and unpracticed. However, the sensation is amazing and your body cries out for more. You try a few different rhythms taking care to stay slow, although that decision comes as much from lack of experience with the motion of thrusting as from your intention to keep your lovemaking gentle. You push against Angela a little harder, penetrating her more deeply. She moans and her legs tighten around as her eyes widen at the feeling.

“Good?” you ask, fairly sure of the answer based on her reactions.

“Y-yeaaahhhhh~!” She breathes, moaning the word as she relaxes inside for a moment. “You’re so _deep~.”_

You continue for a few minutes, but find your arms getting tired from supporting yourself on the slippery satin bedsheets, so you push yourself up, reaching gently behind yourself to untangle Angela’s legs from your hips and letting them fall to the sides, pressing against your thighs as you kneel. The movement has pulled you away from Angela somewhat, so you grip her hips with both hands and pull her back toward you. You release her with your right hand, instead moving it down to rest just above her entrance. You caress the smooth skin there and extend your thumb, stroking her as you begin to thrust again.

“Ohhh~!” She cries out, eyes falling closed and back arching with the sensation as you stimulate the firm place at the top of her lips. Angela writhes for a moment, making tiny whimpering noises, and she raises one of her legs higher. You wrap your arm around her thigh, supporting the leg as Angela bucks on the sheets. She wriggles her hips against you as you rub her ceaselessly, both inside and out.

Each thrust pushes Angela up a few inches on the sheets before she returns to her original position, the back-and-forth motion bouncing her breasts tantalizingly. Her head is turned sideways and laid back on the bed, hair fanning out slightly against the black satin, eyes closed. Her arms are above her, one resting just above her head, the other reaching further up and gripping the sheets. She moans slowly in time with your thrusts, occasionally crying out more loudly when you rub her clit, the sensation too intense for her to keep her ecstasy quiet.

As you continue, her moans become more pronounced and she raises her head, staring at you with a passionate and intense gaze, breathing heavily as she watches you enjoying her. She lowers her arms, bringing her hands to rest on top of her breasts, holding them in her hands, the movement pressing them together a little and making them more pronounced. She teases one of her nipples and tilts her head slightly as if daring you to comment on the display. You release her raised leg, leaning forward and panting in rough breaths. You stop thrusting, pressing in against her as you look down from a few inches above her. 

“Are you putting on a show for me?” you guess, looking at her breasts, then back to her face with a cocked eyebrow.

“Hmmm, do you like it~?” she moans with a soft smile, massaging her breasts from the side and curling her fingers around the undersides of them, the motion incredibly arousing. You exhale in a low growl, lips pulled back in an appreciative smile. Angela’s eyes twinkle at your reaction, and she squeezes you inside as your cock twitches within her.

“Oh god,” you breathe, the pulsations prompting you to instinctively move your hips, your cock sliding out of Angela an inch or two before you plunge it back in, throbbing with the sensation as you spread her.

“Are you gonna cum~?” Angela breathes, looking at you expectantly and wriggling her hips. “You’re twitching so much~…”

“N-not yet,” you stammer, looking down at where Angela’s slit is spread wide around you, then back to her face, flushing slightly. “You just feel so _good_ inside.”

“The feeling is mutual~.” Angela purrs, fluttering her eyelashes at you. “You’re doing pretty well for your first time. Do you want to try another position?”

“You’ve been such a good girl; putting on a show for me…” you murmur, leaning down and kissing her neck fondly. “I’ll let you pick.”

“I want to ride you~.” She groans, biting her lip and looking up at you over her breasts. 

The two of you separate, Angela letting out a little squeak when your head pulls out from inside her. You lay on your back, head propped up on a pillow as you watch Angela crawl around to face you. She sits up on her knees and swings a leg over you, angling her hips and aligning herself. She spreads her pussy with one hand, then sinks down over the head of your cock. She doesn’t take all of your length right away. Instead, she teases your tip, making a circular motion with her hips, just barely keeping your cock from pulling out of her.

You don’t entirely mind the treatment; As Angela teases you, you acutely feel her squeezing your tip, the distinct pressure against your most sensitive part threatening to force you free. However, each time you’re nearly squeezed out of her pussy, she sinks down a little more, not letting you out until she’s had her fun. In fact, the sensation drives you crazy in the best of ways, and you arch your neck back into the pillow and squeeze your eyes shut, causing Angela to giggle.

“Ohhh, are you getting a little sensitive from me doing this~?” she teases, wiggling her hips side-to-side quickly and grinning at you, fully aware of the sweet torment she’s inflicting. You open your mouth to reply, but Angela puts a finger to your lips, then sinks down onto you further, taking about half your length. You gasp at the feeling of her pressing down over you and squeezing tightly.

“F-ffff~….” You bite off a curse, “Ahhhh~, Ha _aah_ ~, that’s good~!” Angela pauses for a moment, watching your reaction with a satisfied half-smile, one eyebrow arched.

“You’re not even all the way in (Name).” She observes, wiggling her hips front to back a little… as if you needed a reminder. “You _are_ getting sensitive~.”

“It… feels different somehow when you’re the one moving.” You explain, reaching out and grasping the outside of one of Angela’s hips and squeezing gently. “It’s _great_ , don’t stop.” 

“Don’t _stop~_?” she repeats, sounding amused. Angela’s eyes go wide for just a second before dropping half-closed in another steamy grin. She looks behind herself at where your cock is angled up into her, then bites her lip and glances back at you with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “I wasn’t planning on _stopping_ ~.” Angela grips your hips with her thighs, then slowly sinks back the rest of the way onto your cock, moaning out a single gasp of “ghhaaaaAAAH~!”, the moan rising to nearly a shriek at the end. 

“Are you all right?” you ask, squeezing her waist with concern in spite of the sudden tight warmth that now engulfs your entire length, squeezing periodically. Angela’s eyebrows are knit together in an expression of either pain or ecstasy, her eyes squeezed shut and her head tilted back slightly. However, when she looks back at you you’re no longer uncertain which sensation she’s experiencing.

“Oh _yes_ ~!” Angela sighs, enthusiastically grinding against you. She raises her hips, then lowers them again, moaning loudly as she savors you. “Ahhhnnnnnn~, you fill me _just right~!”_ She begins to bounce up and down with her hips, squeezing you tightly with her thighs as she rides you.

“Ahhhhh~, hahhhh, ghaaahhh~” you gasp incoherently, gripping the sheets as Angela’s lovemaking becomes more passionate.

She begins to rise higher, rocking forward and backward with each bounce, the motion causing her breasts to bounce as well. You begin to think that Angela was right: you _are_ getting more sensitive. The slick sliding feeling of her pussy repeatedly spreading around your cock and then being withdrawn overwhelms you, and you barely realize what you’re doing as you reach up and wrap your arms around behind Angela’s waist, then pull her down to you. Acting on instinct, the action isn’t violent, but it doesn’t allow for any argument either.

Her eyes grow wide for a second as you pull her to you, but then drop closed as she leans in to kiss you, which you realize was exactly what you’d wanted. She doesn’t stop her lovemaking as you pull her down; she only changes her movement to accommodate the new position, bouncing her hips up and down against your lower body while her breasts press against your chest and she kisses you deeply, seeming to crave your lips. You grab ahold of her hips, stopping her, and she opens her eyes, her expression dazed.

“What are you-aaaAAAhhhhh~!” she starts to ask, cutting off with a moan as you push forward with your hips, plunging your cock up into her. You mean to wait and see if she enjoys your thrusts, or if she’d rather stay in control, but she ducks in for another kiss, whimpering into your mouth and pausing only long enough to breathlessly whisper “Don’t stop~.” Before assaulting you with more kisses.

You move your hips again and again, speed increasing to match your growing passion. You begin to feel a pleasant dull ache in your core as you thrust into Angela, and you realize that you’re close to finishing. You don’t slow, but you do reach a hand down in between you and Angela, sliding your palm down along her abs and reaching in and teasing her clit rapidly with your index finger.

“Mmmmmmm~!” Angela moans, lips still locked with yours but eyes widening for an instant. She breaks the kiss, leaning her forehead into your neck instead and whispering, almost _begging_ , “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t _stoppp~!”_ Her pussy squeezes you more intensely with the added stimulation, and you feel the tension in yourself building, demanding release. You’re a little surprised that you’ve managed to last this long, but there’s no way you’re going make it even another minute. 

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna cuh-” you gasp, and feel Angela tighten even more in response. She pushes herself up a little to look into your eyes, expression smoldering, mouth open as she pants. Angela begins to undulate her hips in time with you, the changing angle causing your thrusts to push against a different spot inside her, and she whimpers for a few moments, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around you, hands pressing against the back of your head and neck.

“M-Me too~.” She breathes, gazing down at you with an intense stare and writhing against you urgently “Ohhhhh _hhhhh~!_ Oh~ oh~ Right there, right there, _right_ ….~!!!” Her eyes go wide and she pulls you forcefully into a kiss as she comes, whimpering quickly in the back of her throat, but not able to release the moans because she refuses to release your lips, hand on the back of your head holding you against her.

Angela’s pussy squeezes you quickly, each contraction running up the length of your cock like an electric shock, and she clings to you like she’s somehow expecting you to buck her off. The unexpected intensity of both her orgasm and her kiss push you over the edge, and your cock twitches for a second, then you cum with a single massive spurt, feeling the wetness spread inside Angela and making both of you slick. Your hips rock convulsively, a few quick shudders accompanying your release. An explosion of pleasure blooms in your head, making you feel dizzy and warm.

Angela inhales sharply through her nose as she feels you finish inside her, but presses down over your cock with her hips, eagerly accepting your release into her deepest parts. Her kiss grows less frantic and more relaxed, and she pulls back after a second, resting her forehead against yours and gazing into your eyes, breathing heavily. Her lips pull to one side in a satisfied half-smile, and she favors you with a flutter of her eyelashes as she continues to pant against you. When she manages to speak, she presses against you luxuriously.

“Mmmmmmmhhhhh~. Good boy.” She purrs in a low voice. “How was your first time~?”

You pant and gaze into her eyes for a moment before deciding that words can’t possibly convey your sentiments, so you reach a hand up and caress the side of her face, brushing her bangs aside with your thumb before craning your neck up to kiss her. You let your kiss match the afterglow simmering in the back of your brain, and you meet Angela’s lips delicately, with a sweetness that you haven’t shown before. Your kisses linger long, hand trembling slightly.

“W-… Wow~.” You breathe when you finally pull back from the kiss, unable to think of anything more appropriate to convey how you’re feeling at the moment. Above you, Angela giggles lightly, then rolls off of you to one side and cuddles against you, placing one hand on your chest and leaning on your shoulder.

“Yeahh~.” Angela agrees with a contented sigh, “You’re a lot better than I expected… the way you rubbed me…” she rolls her hips against you, seeming appreciative. Her comment might embarrass you under different circumstances, but the afterglow smothers the emotion.

“Thanks,” you chuckle, amused at her amorous enthusiasm. “I tried to make up for my lack of practice by… uh, using a few things I’ve read about. I guess it worked?”

“Yes it did~!” Angela confirms as she reaches up and ruffles your hair. “I want _more_ ~.”

“Well, then come here~.” you encourage her. You sit up against the headboard and pull Angela to you, her head on your chest and her body along your left side at a slight angle. You lean forward and whisper into her ear, “I think I neglected some things the first time around~.” 

“Hmmmmm~,” Angela sighs as you reach over and begin lightly teasing her breasts, “I was afraid you didn’t like them~.”

“What?” you ask, pausing and turning slightly so you can see her face. “Why would you think that?” Angela turns to look at you over her shoulder, then shrugs slightly.

“I was trying to get you to notice them more when I was holding them earlier.” Angela admits, looking down and sounding a little embarrassed. “When you didn’t play with them at all, I thought you must not have been interested.”

“How did I miss that?” you mutter, almost wishing you had a hand free with which to slap yourself on the forehead. “Angela, I _love_ your breasts; they’re beautiful. I’m sorry I didn’t give them more attention.”

“I _was_ distracting you a little bit with …other things~.” Angela allows, then cozies up against you a little more closely. “You can make it up to me now though… if you want to?”

“Angela,” you breathe in a low voice into her ear, your tone halfway between a promise and a warning. “I’m going to tease you until you tell me to _stop_ ~.” She inhales lightly in anticipation, and you turn your attention to the soft and deliciously feminine shapes of her breasts in your hands.

You sigh as you caress the underside of each breast, tracing your fingers around to the sides, the rounded fullness feeling smooth and warm to your touch. Angela’s breasts feel delicate in your hands, and you gently stroke them, occasionally tracing a finger up the front of one to brush the tip of a nipple. You don’t entirely know what you’re doing, operating mostly on instinct and hoping that your gentle touches and smooth lingering caresses feel good for Angela. Luckily, she seems to enjoy what you’re doing, and she leans her head back affectionately against you and begins to sigh softly at your attentions.

“I… want to… try something.” Angela says slowly in between passionate breaths as you continue to stimulate her. You don’t respond immediately, instead reaching over her shoulder and brushing from the top of her left breast up to her collarbone, tracing it out to her shoulder before squeezing the shoulder and turning to meet Angela’s glance.

“Tell me what you want.” You murmur. You drop your hand from Angela’s other breast, and run it up and down along the curve of her waist instead.

“Can you get hard again yet?” she asks, reaching over and rubbing your cock with her right hand. You don’t stiffen, and Angela’s touch on your manhood is still a little too intense to be completely comfortable; you’re still recovering.

“I…” you begin, then flush with embarrassment at your lack of stiffness, feeling like maybe you should be able to continue, but finding yourself unable to do so. “I don’t think so. It’s only been a few minutes…” You’re not exactly watching the clock, but you guess that you’ll need at least a half hour before you’re ready to go again. “I can still tease you in the meantime?” you offer.

“Mmmmm, I know you can~.” Angela murmurs appreciatively.

However, she turns, pushing you back down against the pillows lightly. You lay back, propped up slightly on your elbows as Angela kisses you. She gives you a quick peck on the lips before pulling away, eyes mischievous. She begins to work her way down, planting another kiss on your neck, then your pecs, then your abs, grinning up at you between each, but quickly working her way south.

“Um…Angela?” you stammer, nervous as Angela apparently reaches her destination. She’s crouched on all fours, hands to either side of your hips, and head poised above your groin. “Sorry, but I… I’m pretty sure you, um… put me out of commission. For now at least?”

“Well then,” Angela says, smiling up at you and looking bemused, “Let’s get you back in the action. I’ve always wanted to try this…”

She places her right hand in the center of your torso, her palm flat against your chest. As she moves, a golden light blooms at her shoulder, then runs down over the skin of her arm. The light reaches her hand just as she presses it to your chest. Then the light surges into you, glowing briefly under your skin before vanishing, and you suck in a deep breath, chest heaving as you feel the energy pulse through your entire body.

The afterglow that has been quietly simmering in the back of your head flares to unbearable intensity for a few seconds, making you gasp in pleasure. Then the afterglow subsides, leaving your skin prickled in goosebumps caused by the sudden change in sensation. In the wake of the retreating pleasant warmth, you instead feel… energetic. Hungry almost… but not for _food._ You glance at the hand on your chest, feeling each of the slender fingers acutely and distinctly. You look up to meet Angela’s eyes. Seeing her naked and poised over you stokes your passion, and you feel your cock begin to grow hard with startling rapidity.

“What did you just _do_ to me~?” You demand, tilting your head back and closing your eyes against the overwhelming surge of lust. You were turned on before, but this is at _least_ twice as intense.

“The way I see it,” Angela murmurs, watching your cock for a moment before looking up and meeting your confused eyes with a smoldering, satisfied smile. “You’ve been missing a lot of the …fun two people can have together. I’m just helping you get… caught up.”

“Why… Why am I… so…” you pant, still holding your eyes shut but feeling your cock tense, harder than you think you’ve ever been in your life. “I… I’m hot…inside… I want to take you _right now_ ; right this second, and make you beg for _Mercy_.” You open your eyes and tilt your head, your choice of words sounding odd to you; like you just made a joke but somehow don’t understand the punchline.

“That... That might be partly my fault.” Angela breathes, looking at you and trying unsuccessfully to cover a smirk. She appears to be on the verge of laughing. “When I revive someone, my state of mind at that moment transfers to the person I’m reviving. Normally, it’s just a strong desire for them to keep fighting and nobody really notices, but… well~…” she looks down, blushing beet red but still smiling. “This time, I had something else on my mind.”

“So…” you choke out, the sensations making it difficult to think, “So, _you_ want to make _me_ beg for Mercy?” you shake your head, struck once more by the strange half-sense that a joke has just gone over your head. This time Angela does giggle, holding her hand to her mouth as you ask the question, looking at you over her hand with eyes twinkling with laughter “Why… why is that… funny?”

“When I go on missions,” Angela explains, smirking at you. “It’s too clunky for everyone to call me ‘Angela’ or ‘Doctor Ziegler’ in the middle of combat, so I go by my callsign: Mercy. I didn’t realize my… um, _intentions_ would come through to you so clearly~.”

A very distant part of your mind is fascinated at having picked up a stray thought from Angela, even if it _was,_ apparently, a double entendre. However, that part of you is swiftly overwhelmed by the desire burning inside. Your hips move without your permission, raising your cock up in front of Angela. You experience several unfamiliar impulses and sensations, and you realize dimly that they’re echoes of the _physical_ sensations Angela was experiencing when she used her ability on you. You’re literally experiencing both your own arousal and _hers_ at the same time.

You raise a hand to your forehead, looking at her through half-focused eyes and breathing heavily, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the almost too-intense and yet still _needy_ throbbing at your groin, and the coiling, fluttery tension below your stomach. The unfamiliar sensations gradually fade after a few moments more, leaving you feeling only your own natural arousal, albeit a very strong version thereof. Your breath is still ragged, and you’re genuinely afraid that you won’t be able to hold yourself back if this goes on any longer.

“If you want me to beg, I’ll _beg_ , but… don’t just _leave_ me like this!” you plead, unconsciously raising your hips again and grasping Angela’s shoulder imploringly.

She grins at your near-panicked arousal, but wraps her fingers around the base of your cock squeezing lightly, and begins to stroke you. She raises and lowers her hand slowly up and down your length, dragging her thumb along the underside of your head, which makes you grunt. Angela watches you as she continues the handjob, seeming to enjoy your reactions. After a minute, a dribble of precum leaks out onto her hand, and she gazes at it for a moment before opening her mouth wide and wrapping her lips around the head of your cock.

“Mmmhh~” she moans, the sound muffled as she sucks for a moment, tongue curling around your head inside her mouth.

Angela releases her lips from around your manhood with a slight pop, then licks her way up your shaft, holding the base in her fingers. She laps at you from several angles, then opens her mouth wide and swallows even more of your length. For several minutes, Angela alternates between sucking you, toying with you using her hand, and teasing you with her tongue, occasionally meeting your eyes as she does so. You wouldn’t have thought it possible, but you grow even more aroused as she pleasures you with her mouth. Before long, you’re gripping the sheets and groaning.

Finally, it’s too much. You reach down and place two fingers on the underside of Angela’s chin. You gently pull her gaze upward, your cock pulling out of her mouth with a soft _pop_ as she looks up at you. She waits expectantly, not seeming to mind that you’ve interrupted her, and you gesture for her to come closer. She crawls up on top of you until she’s face-to-face with you, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Change positions?” she guesses, and you nod. She caresses the side of your face and kisses you, then places a hand on your chest. “I think it’s your turn to pick.”

“Let me up?” you ask, pressing gently against her chest. She rolls off you to the side, and you roll the other direction, then gesture to the headboard.

Angela sits up and places both hands about shoulder-width apart, facing and gripping the top of the headboard at roughly chest height. She kneels with her knees wide apart and a foot or two back from the top of the bed, displacing the pillows. She looks back as you kneel behind her and lean in, wrapping your arms around her waist, then sliding them up to cup her breasts.

“Ahhhhh~! I think I’m going to like this~!” she mewls as you tease one breast, using your other hand to run your cock up and down against her entrance. You grow slick in moments; her pussy is practically dripping on the bedsheets, and you’re still wet from her blowjob.

“Are you ready already?” You ask, face against the back of her neck as you breathe in the scent of her hair.

“I never _stopped_ being ready~.” She moans, pressing her butt back against you and wiggling her hips. “I didn’t rez you for only _your_ enjoyment.”

You slowly push forward with your hips. The tip of your cock spreading her thin lips before disappearing into her. Angela gasps, then presses back, taking the rest of your length with a sigh. You groan and run your hands down both sides of her body and hold onto her hips as he pulls forward, then pushes back against you again, your cock sliding deep inside her with the motion. She pauses, squeezing you lightly as you lean forward and kiss the back of her neck, her bushy ponytail first brushing the side of your head, but then pulling away as she turns to smile at you over her shoulder.

“Tha-That tickles!” She giggles, leaning her head back and forcing your lips away from her neck.

“Sorry~.” You murmur without much sincerity, then lean forward to kiss just forward of her ear, pulling back, then thrusting into her again at the same time. “How’s that~?”

“Mmmm~!” Angela purrs in appreciation. She reaches back and fondly holds your right forearm just below where you’re holding her breast and teasing it gently. You alternate between stimulating her breasts and pushing deep into her. You aren’t quite coordinated enough at first to do both at once, so your rhythm stops and starts as you shift your focus back and forth. She lets you continue for several minutes, but then tugs your hand downward insistently.

You follow where she guides you, and Angela brings your hand to her clit again, pressing it against her with her own hand, then giving you an encouraging pat as if to say “ _Get to it~!”_ You reach back toward yourself with two fingers and begin to make circular motions over her nub. It takes you another minute to find a rhythm for thrusting and rubbing at the same time, but you soon manage to keep both motions going simultaneously. Angela’s moans begin to grow more intense and she reaches back, groping blindly for a moment before grabbing your hip and squeezing it as if in thanks.

“Ahhhh~! Hmmmm~! Ooohhhh~!, Harderrrr~!” Angela moans and pleads, rolling her own hips slightly in time with your thrusts.

You scooch forward a few inches, then slide yourself fully into Angela, pushing her butt forward with your abs and planting a hand on the wall above the headboard. You press against her back and force her to sit up straighter, trapping her against the wall. She reaches up the wall with both arms, wrists pulled back in a catlike stretching motion, letting out a long moan as you lean in next to her neck, feeling her shoulders against your chest. You sit up a little on your knees, your thrusts now pushing upwards into Angela with the new angle of her hips.

“HmmMMmmMm~” Angela moans unsteadily, then quietly begins to sigh, “Yes~, yesss~, hhhhmmmmyyyeaahhh~.” You stroke her faster, sensing that she’s close to another orgasm and wanting to feel her squeezing you rapidly again as she comes. Your other hand is resting on the side of her chest just below her left breast, and you can feel her breathing growing faster. After another minute, she can’t hold out against the pleasure you’re giving her any longer.

This time, her orgasm is quiet. You feel her suck in a deep breath, and then her pussy pulses rapidly along your length, the sensation surprising you. You continue thrusting as she comes, and she rocks her hips dramatically, clit pulsing under your fingers in time with her squeezes inside. Her orgasm lasts for what seems like at least half a minute before she finally slows, gently pulling your hand from her clit, and pushing back against your hips for a moment before pulling forward off of your cock. She turns, still trapped underneath you, looking over her shoulder and breathing slowly and deeply.

“ _God_ that was good~!” She exclaims, turning further and pushing you lightly back to sit, then doing likewise, resting with her back against the headboard for a moment as her legs tremble. She spreads her legs again, propping herself up with one elbow and reaching down to tease herself. She looks at you with half-lidded eyes and bites her lip again, then raises a single finger wet with her own lubrication and beckons you over.

You kneel down in front of Angela and pull her to you by her hips. Her thighs rest on top of your own, and she curves her legs around behind you, holding on tightly as you insert yourself again, groaning as your increasingly-sensitive cock slides smoothly back into her dripping wetness. Her last orgasm appears to have left her even slicker, and your entire length slides into her with the barest hint of silky resistance. The lack of friction makes her pulsations even more distinct as you begin to move again. You hold onto her waist with one hand and cup one of her breasts with the other, stroking just to the outside of one nipple with your thumb.

Angela’s arousal seems to have only increased with her orgasm, and it appears you aren’t the only one becoming more sensitive. Your touches seem to be getting a stronger reaction than before, and Angela arches her back, pushing out her breasts for your attention. You oblige her, using both hands to tease her. However, reaching down to fondle her breasts in this position is a little awkward, so you reach behind Angela’s back and pull her up against you, holding her up for a moment as you cross your legs underneath her, then setting her down.

“Huhhhmmmm~” Angela moans appreciatively as she settles herself and begins to move her hips. “Who said you get to pick the position~?”

“Are you complaining?” You ask and raise an eyebrow, noting the lewd expression on Angela’s face as she grinds herself against the base of your cock. You lean forward and gently kiss one of the nipples that are now at face level and Angela moans again, pushing her breasts forward more insistently.

“Not if you keep doing _that_ ~!” She moans, furrowing her brow and closing her eyes in enjoyment as you suck on one of her nipples, gently swirling your tongue around the sensitive tip.

You reach behind Angela and pull her against you, crossing your arms behind the small of her back. As you continue, you alternate your attention between sucking her nipples and leaning in to kiss the underside of her neck, stealing glances at her face as she moans in pleasure. You begin to move your own hips, not able to thrust very far, but enjoying the additional sensation as it adds to Angela’s needy grinding motions. Her moans start getting louder, and her hips begin to move faster, her entire lower body pulsing against you.

Angela’s head has been tilted back, enjoyment written on her features. Now however, she meets your eyes, focusing on you with single-minded intensity. She continues to move against you at an almost frantic pace, breathing heavily from the exertion. Her moans are already loud, but now they become short and fast as well, leaving you no doubt that she’s getting close to another release. Her frantic pace is having the same effect on you, and you return her stare, reaching behind her neck and pulling her until her forehead is resting against yours.

“I’ve… haahhh~…. I’ve never… made it to three… before.” Angela gasps in between breaths and moans, gazing at you with something like amazement.

“Me… hoahhh, Fffff-…. Me neither.” You reply, attempting a joke. However, your own pleasure causes the words to come out sounding more dazed than sarcastic. Angela smirks at you anyway, although the expression quickly fades back to enjoyment. “How… mmmm~ How close are you?” you ask as you feel the pleasant ache in your groin building again. Your own climax is approaching slowly but surely.

“C-Close~” Angela moans, reaching up to run a hand through your hair. She twists her fingers through it slightly, then holds your head against hers, still gazing into your eyes with an intense expression. “ _Really_ close, don’t stop~”

You don’t feel like you’re doing much that you _could_ stop; Angela is riding you frantically, but you’re mostly just holding on. However, the slickness of the satin sheets underneath the two of you has led to a complication: you’re starting to slip. As Angela writhes against you, your bottom half is being pulled forward out from under you. With Angela’s legs wrapped around you, and your own crossed underneath her, you realize that you won’t be able to regain your balance and you end up toppling back in between the pillows. Angela topples with you, letting out a faint squeak of alarm as she collapses on top of you.

“S-… sorry.” You apologize, feeling mortified. Angela just giggles, then rolls off of you.

“No time for apologies!” She chastises you lightheartedly. Angela lays on her right side and scooches up against you with her back against your left side. She raises her right leg, pulling her knee toward her chest and looking over her shoulder at you. “Come on, finish me like this~!”

You roll over to face her, pushing your hips forward. Angela reaches down and guides you into her, then begins to tease herself as you start to move. You reach forward with your left arm, propping yourself up on your elbow, and resting your hand affectionately on Angela’s forearm. You run your hand back and forth along her right side, moving it slowly from her hip up to the bottom of her right breast, then back. The brief interruption has delayed both of your climaxes, but you feel your own release building rapidly once more.

“Angela…” You breathe in a whisper, burying your face in her neck and smelling her perfume. “I’m gonna cum…” Angela reaches back and places her hand reassuringly on your waist.

“It’s okay (Name),” she moans, rubbing you with a hand still slightly wet from rubbing herself. “Give it to me~.”

Her words of encouragement push you closer, but you don’t want to finish first, so you reach past her stomach with your right hand and begin rubbing her clit quickly, trailing your middle finger against her nub with fast strokes. The added stimulation makes Angela gasp, and she releases your waist, reaching up to fondle one of her breasts. She turns back to you, her expression dazed, tongue hanging half out of her mouth as she pants and moans.

“Mmmmm, oh god~…” you moan as your cock twitches and flexes in response to the incredibly sexy expression, and Angela squeezes you with her pussy. It’s enough to finish you all at once, and you cum. The flexing ache in your manhood tightens suddenly, and you release inside Angela with a quick burst.

“AAahhhhhhnnnnnnn~” Angela moans, feeling you cum inside her and closing her eyes as her pussy becomes slick with it. She apparently enjoys the sensation of being filled, because a second later, her pussy tightens convulsively around you, and she lets out another long tremulous moan, head dropping slump against the sheets as her body shakes. Her contractions stimulate you even further, causing you to cum _again_ , releasing several more spurts into her. “Mm~! MMmm~! Hmm~! Mmm-Hmmmm~!” Angela whimpers in response to each additional increase to what’s already inside her.

For a few moments, the two of you simply lie there and gasp, overcome by your simultaneous orgasms. You pull yourself out of Angela as you begin to become painfully sensitive, and she lowers her leg but continues to lie with her back against you and her head against the sheets. Finally, she rolls over to face you and puts an arm around your neck, pulling you into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry it took me so long to post this chapter, but hopefully it's worth the wait. For new readers, hopefully this will pay off all those smutty tags that haven't applied until now :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, 
> 
> This is my second attempt at writing an Overwatch fanfic, and the first one I've ever posted anywhere so apologies if it's a little clunky in places. Please let me know what you think :D
> 
> I've got about nine chapters written so far but they still need edits, so expect fairly regular updates until I get to that point :)


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